The Witch's Promise
by Speaker-to-Customers
Summary: Sequel to 'The Hour of the Troll'. When Willow accidentally sent Olaf to the Hyborian Age she unknowingly created a loophole that would let her bring back Tara from death - but now Tara is stranded in the lethally dangerous world of Conan.
1. Prologue & Chapter One

**The Witch's Promise**

_Know, O Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars – Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming West._

Hither came Tara MacLay, tawny-haired, sleepy-eyed, flowers in hand, a witch, a weaver, a lesbian, with occasional mild melancholies and sometimes a little mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under her sandaled feet and then apologize profusely and try to repair them.

Let me tell you of those days of high adventure…

**Prologue**

Tara lay sprawled on the floor. Her light blue top was marked by a red stain surrounding a ragged circular hole nine millimeters across. She wasn't breathing.

"Come on, baby," Willow sobbed. She put her hands on Tara's chest, trying to remember what she had heard about performing CPR, but she couldn't remember what to do. All practical thoughts had been driven from her head by the shock. If it had been a matter of magic...

A red glow lit her eyes. She lifted her head and howled out a command. "By Osiris," she called, "I command you! Bring her back." The room went dark. A swirling cloud of blue-gray vapor gathered just below the ceiling. "Hear me, Keeper of Darkness!"

The clouds formed into the shape of a massive face with a stern expression. Lightning flickered around it as it spoke in a deep and booming voice. "Witch, how dare you invoke Osiris in this task!"

"Please," Willow sobbed, "please, please bring her back."

"You may not violate the laws of natural passing," the face reminded her.

Willow's eyes opened very wide. "How? How is this natural?"

"It is a human death, by human means," the cloud pointed out. "You raised one killed by mystical forces. This is not the same. She is taken by natural order. It is done."

"It can't be!" Willow's face contorted. "You have to bring her back."

"I do not have to do any such thing," the ghostly presence told her. "Do not presume to command me, witch."

"I beseech you," Willow sobbed. "Please. I'll do anything. Pay any price."

The flickers of lightning ceased for a moment and the cloud's features grew less distinct. They reformed in a somewhat less menacing form. "_Any_ price?"

"I know there are always consequences," Willow said. "I don't care. I'll pay any price to get Tara back."

"You ask for what is undreamed of," said the figure of mist. "I cannot return her to the here and now. It is beyond my power in the circumstances." It became clearer, more solid in appearance, and the lightning flashed again. "Hmm. 'Undreamed of'. An age undreamed of? Perhaps there is something that I can do after all."

"Not to the here and now?" Willow's eyes were still oozing tears but now her brow was furrowed in concentration. "So, to the there and then? What does that mean?"

"You opened a gateway a year and more ago," the Keeper of Darkness reminded her, "and banished one through it. I can… divert your loved one to that destination."

"To the Land of the Trolls?" Willow's eyes opened wide. "They'd kill her!"

"The alternative is that she dies now," the envoy of Osiris pointed out. "It would not be to the Land of the Trolls, witch. Your aim was awry. The troll went to Hyboria, to the Age of High Adventure, and prospered there. Shall I send Tara to join him in that realm, restored to life, or remain here and perish irrevocably? Decide quickly, witch, for once she passes the Veil of the Dead and faces judgment there can be no diversion."

"I'll be able to bring her back from there, right?"

"It may be possible," the Keeper said, "if you penetrate the mysteries. Choose quickly, witch."

"How long do I have?"

"Before you must choose?" The Keeper paused for a second, as if calculating, and then spoke in measured tones. "Twenty-eight seconds."

"What? I need time to think."

"I make not the rules," the dark envoy stated. "Choose. Fifteen seconds."

"I… she…"

"Ten."

"Okay!" Willow stood up and shouted loudly. "Send her to where Olaf went! Do it."

A blackness swallowed the room, blotting out all light for a moment, and the Keeper's voice boomed out "It is done." The darkness cleared and Willow could see again.

Tara's body had vanished.

**Chapter One**

Tara saw a splatter of red appear on the front of Willow's shirt. "Your shirt…" she began to say, and then she felt a pain in her chest. It was quickly followed by weakness, dizziness, and then a sensation of falling. Everything went dark, for a moment, and then light returned and she could see again. The pain, the weakness, and the dizziness were gone.

Tara blinked and then opened her eyes very wide. She wasn't in the bedroom any longer. She was outside, in bright sunlight, and nowhere she'd ever been before.

It was some sort of town square, apparently, a wide-open space surrounded by buildings. And if those buildings were in California the only place she could be was a movie set. The ground was unpaved, the square being made up of nothing but well-trodden bare earth, and some of the houses had thatched roofs! There were people in the square; men wearing odd pointed caps on their heads with the tips bent over forwards – Phrygian caps, a flash of memory from a History class told her – and clad in drab smocks and tunics, and women in shapeless sacking dresses with headscarves tied over their hair. Most of the people carried clubs, hoes, or pitchforks and a few of them, oddly considering that it was broad daylight, brandished flaming torches.

A second glance showed Tara that not all of the women wore shapeless sacks. There was one who stood out as different in every way. Her long dark hair hung loose, her slim body was dressed in a tight black shirt and breeches, and, most noticeably, her wrists were tied and she was being frog-marched toward…

A stake. An actual stake, witches for the burning at, with logs and kindling piled up around its base. If this wasn't a movie then the young woman was in a whole lot of trouble.

And so was Tara.

Her arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. Heads turned, eyes were trained on her, and jaws dropped.

"She appeared out of nowhere!" someone called. "She must be another witch!"

"Seize her!" another voice yelled. "Burn the witch!"

"I'm n-not a w-w-witch," Tara claimed, her long-conquered stammer returning as much because she was lying as because of the stress of the situation.

"She lies!" was the immediate response. "Burn the witch!" A dozen voices took up the cry and most of the crowd began to move toward her. Only those holding the bound woman remained behind.

Tara glanced around her, hoping desperately that Willow or Buffy had been transported along with her to wherever this strange place was, but there was no sign of them. Instead, as she turned to look behind her, she saw a large man coming at her with his hands raised to grab her arms. She twisted, and tried to dodge, but was only partially successful. She managed to keep her arms free but his big hands clamped down on her shoulders.

"I have the witch!" the man cried triumphantly.

Tara was close to panic. She couldn't think of any spells, she was no good at fighting, and she couldn't run away unless she could free herself from the man's grip. In the nick of time she remembered some lessons Spike had given her during That Dreadful Summer.

"You're bleedin' hopeless, Glinda," Spike had said, "got the co-ordination of Bambi on ice and the killer instinct of the Dalai Lama, but these moves are simple enough even you should be able to get the hang of them. 'Least you might be able to make the bugger let you go so you can run for your life, anyway, give me or the Bot a chance to come to your rescue."

With his words in her mind she formed her hand into a blade, brought it up between her captor's arms, and drove it forward into his face. A vampire could have countered by tossing her away, although at least that would have achieved the objective of forcing him to let her go, but this human was completely unable to do anything to prevent her hitting him smack on the nose.

"Youch!" the man yelped. He released her shoulders and clasped both hands to his face.

"Sorry," Tara said, automatically. She backed away, hastily, as several other villagers approached. One jabbed at her with a pitchfork, but from far too far away, and the tines didn't even come close. Then one of the men ran straight at her, hands outstretched, in a manner very reminiscent of a fledgling vamp rushing heedlessly in for the kill.

Spike had taught her the counter to that one, too. Again, he'd only been concerned with keeping her out of a vampire's grasp, as actually disabling a vampire was something she could only achieve with spells, and that helped her to go through with the move without needing to worry about harming a human.

She shifted her feet and turned, going through a maneuver Spike had referred to as a 'step-turn', and the man's rush missed. Her right hand ended up in exactly the right position to deliver a shove to his back as he shot past.

The result was spectacular. He was just starting to twist, trying to change the angle of his grab, and her push made him lose his footing and crash to the ground. The man wasn't able to do anything at all to save himself and he hit the hard-packed earth traveling very fast indeed. The breath must have been driven from his body and he made no immediate attempt to get up; he merely lay on the ground wheezing and gasping for breath.

This time Tara managed to stop herself from uttering an apology. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she told the mob, who seemed to have lost some of their enthusiasm for the attack and who were milling around a few yards away, "but I'll defend myself."

Her first attacker wiped the back of his hand across his nose, bringing it away streaked with blood, and snarled at her. "Vile sorceress," he growled, "I shall smite you senseless and drag you to the stake." He lumbered forward with a fist swinging.

Spike hadn't taught her how to deal with that sort of attack. It would have been pointless back in Sunnydale; once a vampire started punching, instead of grabbing, only a very strong man could hope to block its blows. Xander could just about hold his own, on a good day and if the vampire was newly turned, but Tara would have stood no chance. This was no vampire, however, and she had to do something besides standing still to be hit. The only evasive move she knew was the step-turn and so that's what she did.

The fist whistled past her head, missing her by mere inches, and the big oaf overbalanced as his blow didn't encounter the expected resistance. He spun three quarters of the way around, ending up almost with his back to Tara, and she only knew one thing to do in that circumstance. She pushed him.

She caught him completely off-balance. He went sprawling, flinging out his arms to save himself, and landed with all his weight on his right hand. His agonized yell, and the way he rolled on the ground clutching at his wrist, was a clear indicator that the wrist was broken or seriously sprained.

"By Mitra!" one of the other peasants exclaimed. "She is as dangerous as the other one!"

The other one. Tara latched onto the thought. She needed help; she'd been victorious, so far, only by sheer luck and the incompetence of her opponents, and as soon as the would-be witch-burners gathered themselves together and made a concerted rush she'd be overwhelmed. The obvious ally was the woman being dragged toward the stake and, anyway, Tara would have wanted to save her from that dreadful fate even if Tara herself had been in no danger whatsoever.

Tara stared at the other 'witch'. Definitely a young woman, fairly pretty in a dark and sultry way, with a slim and athletic build. There was nothing about her that said 'witch' to Tara. If Tara had had to guess at a pre-Industrial profession for the girl she would have gone for 'pirate'. Not that you could go by appearances, of course, but Tara was still inclined to suspect that the girl wasn't a witch at all. It could be that in this place, wherever or whenever it was, a 'witch' was defined as a woman who was capable of defending herself by means either magical or physical. Or perhaps it was 'appearing out of nowhere' which was the distinguishing characteristic, the 'witch's mark', and the dark girl had been transported here in a similar fashion to Tara.

The girl was struggling in the grasp of two men, putting up a creditable fight, but with her hands tied she was unable to resist effectively and was being inexorably dragged toward the stake.

Tara's brows lowered and she clenched her teeth. She couldn't stand by and let someone be burned as a witch. But what could she do to stop it?

She couldn't fight; she might possibly manage to defend herself against another unskilled attack but there was no way she could successfully take the fight to the enemy. She knew only a few combat spells, almost all intended for use against vampires, and she was loath to harm anyone with magic anyway.

The worst case scenario was if this weird place in which she'd found herself really was a film set. If she'd been somehow swapped with an actress, whether physically or mentally with a Draconian Katra spell the way Faith had swapped with Buffy, and the mob were extras and bit-part actors simply following a script, then lighting them on fire would be Bad; an extremely harsh punishment for merely appearing in a movie, even if the film in question turned out to be a sequel to the appalling 'Dungeons and Dragons'. She couldn't see any sign of cameras, or a director, but that didn't mean they weren't around somewhere. She couldn't risk it.

Tara knew one harmless but incapacitating spell, able to make half a dozen or so weak-willed people fall instantly asleep, but using it would probably trigger an all-out attack by those not affected. If she aimed it at the girl's captors it might put the girl to sleep as well; it shouldn't, in theory, but Tara had never tried the spell out in a combat situation and she wasn't absolutely sure of how discriminating it would be. What she needed was a way of freeing the girl from her bonds at a distance…

And then she had it. A spell her mother had taught her, long ago, intended for untangling snarled fishing lines and the like, but with broader applications. "_Neo amhlaich_!" she commanded, pointing at her chosen target.

The ropes around the girl's wrists untied themselves and fell away. Her hands were free. She was still being held by two men, of course, but they were holding her by the upper arms and were thrown into confusion by the change in circumstances. She lowered a hand to the groin of one of the men, took hold, and squeezed.

Her captor yelled out, released his hold, and grabbed for her clutching hand. She let go, avoided his grab, and used that free hand to punch the other man in the mouth. He didn't immediately release his grip on her arm and so she twisted her body and brought up a knee. This time he let go, doubled up, and now both the men were covering their groins with their hands. She brought her right arm around and struck one of the men on the jaw with the heel of her hand, knocking him to the ground, and then repeated the procedure with the other one. That one didn't fall and so she kicked him behind the knee, sending him stumbling, and rabbit-punched him on the back of the neck. He went down and lay still. The girl was free.

She turned around, away from Tara, and ran like the wind.

"Oh." Tara gazed at the woman, her hoped-for ally, who was disappearing between the houses, and pouted. It seemed remarkably ungrateful. Now Tara was alone, facing an angry mob, and running out of options.

"The other witch has escaped" shouted someone from the crowd, and a few of the peasants ran off in that direction. The majority remained fixated on Tara. They were spreading out now, some of them heading off to the sides, working their way around to encircle her. Her outlook seemed grim.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Tara told them, "but I will if you make me. I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me." It was obvious by now that this was no film set. The changes that she'd made to the script would have caused any director to shout 'Cut!' long ago. She still wasn't enthusiastic about causing permanent harm to humans but at least they'd be would-be witch burners and not innocent actors.

Her words were ignored. "She can't stand against us all," a man at the back of the crowd called. "Seize her!" The crowd surged forward.

Frantically Tara cast her Sleep spell. "_Dormire_!" she cried, accompanying the words with the necessary gestures, and five of the attackers slumped to the ground. The others faltered and their charge petered out. Some began to back away.

"I w-warned you," Tara said. "Get out of my w-way. I'm leaving." Not that she had any idea of where she could go, of course, but away from this place seemed like a good first step. She could see fields through one of the gaps between the buildings, meaning that she probably wouldn't find herself trapped up a blind alley if she went that way, and so she chose that direction.

For a few seconds no-one tried to stop her. Then a cry sounded out "They only sleep! We have nothing to fear. Seize the witch!" and the mob surged forward once more.

Two men raced ahead of their fellows. One had a hoe raised high to strike and the other held a pitchfork as if it was a pike. They looked as if they intended to kill.

Tara cringed. In her position Buffy would, no doubt, catch the pitchfork, pull it from its wielder's hands, and use the butt end to club both men into unconsciousness. Spike, even handicapped by his chip, would dodge in such a way that he sent one man crashing into the other. Tara knew in theory how she could do it, she could almost hear Spike's voice coaching her, but she also knew that she just didn't have the reactions and the coordination to pull it off successfully. The Sleep spell wasn't powerful enough, accurate enough, or reliable enough for this situation. She knew only one spell that might serve; normally she'd regard it as far too dangerous to use against humans, in fact the only time she'd ever used it had been against a Hellion demon who had captured Anya, but then again normally humans weren't trying to kill her with agricultural implements. Desperate times called for desperate measures…

She thrust out her hand and shouted out "_Dissolvo_!" A bolt of light shot forth from her fingers, fanned out, and struck both of the charging men. They were lifted from their feet and thrown bodily backward. The rest of the mob halted dead in their tracks. A handful of men and women turned and ran.

"She can't stop us all," someone shouted, probably that same person at the back who, with 'the bravery of being out of range', had inspired their first charge. "Get her!"

The majority held back, too cowed by Tara's display to risk themselves, but a few obeyed. Five men and two women ran at Tara waving their farm tools. They were coming at her from all sides and there was no way that she would be able to stop them all.

"Cowardly jackals, flee or die!" a female voice yelled. A horse thundered toward the mob, its rider brandishing a saber, and the peasants scattered. The dark-haired girl was back, in the nick of time, coming to Tara's aid after all.

One man grabbed at the rider but was struck by the horse's shoulder and slammed to the ground. Another lunged at her with a pitch-fork; she swayed in the saddle, avoiding the thrust, and then straightened up and retaliated with a saber-cut that split the man's head open. He went down and lay still. Then she was through the crowd and bringing the horse to a halt beside Tara.

"Up behind me," she called, extending a hand. Tara caught hold with one hand, put her other hand on the horse's rump, and half vaulted, half was tugged, up onto the horse behind her savior. "Hold tight," the girl warned, and spurred the horse to a gallop.

Tara could ride, and ride well, but perching precariously behind another rider was something new for her. She took hold of the dark-haired girl's waist, held on tight, and gripped the horse with her legs as best she could when she was behind the saddle. The horse's hooves pounded the earth, the houses shot past almost in a blur and then gave way to fields, and Tara was jolted up and down until her spine ached with the jarring. The fields were replaced by scrub and long grass, and then by trees, and the horse slowed down.

"They will not follow us this far," the girl said, and she reined in the horse. "We can rest for a while."

Tara took the hint and dismounted. Her muscles protested, and she knew she'd be sore next day, but at least she managed to get to the ground without falling or, worse, pulling the other girl down with her. Once she was clear the dark-haired girl dismounted in one smooth move.

"You have my gratitude for saving my life," the girl said. She still had the saber in her hand; she bent down, plucked a handful of grass, and used it to wipe clean the blade. "I was certain I was going to die this day. Had you not freed me I would have burned."

"I couldn't let that happen," Tara said. "You saved me in return so, uh, I guess w-we're even." She studied the other girl. Long straight hair so dark as to be almost jet black, skin of a light olive brown shade that looked Latina to Tara, big brown eyes with long thick lashes, full and sensuous lips; only a rather prominent aquiline nose, and heavy eyebrows that had obviously never been plucked and shaped, detracted from what would otherwise have been a face of remarkable beauty. Jewish, Arab, or possibly Italian, Tara deduced, rather than Latina.

"You were in not such dire peril," the girl pointed out, "for you were free, and had felled many of the villagers, whereas I had been captured and bound. You are a true witch of great power. I had thought all such were ugly old crones, like in the stories, but you are young and pretty." Tara felt a blush coming to her cheeks. The girl didn't see it; she had turned away to face the horse and was sliding the saber into a scabbard that hung from the front of the saddle. She then took hold of the reins and turned back to Tara. "I must walk Forouzan to cool her down after the gallop," she said. "Walk with us so that we may continue to talk."

"Of course," Tara said. She moved to walk beside the other girl. "Uh, what's your name?" she asked. It wasn't the question that was at the forefront of her mind but it seemed only polite.

"I am Roshan, daughter of Vahauka, from the city of Yarmouk on the border between Shem and Koth," the girl replied. "And may I know yours?"

"Tara MacLay," Tara answered. The additional information Roshan had included in her reply, along with her name, made Tara's head swim. Yarmouk, Shem, Koth? Tara had never heard of any such places. Where on Earth was she? Or, in fact, was she somewhere beyond Earth? "Uh, from Sunnydale in California," she added.

Roshan came to a halt and turned to stare at Tara. "I have not heard of that land, and I thought that I knew all the realms between the Vilayet Sea and the Western Ocean," she said.

"And I've never heard of the places you mentioned," Tara said. "I don't think this is my, uh, my w-world. I think I've been, uh, transported here by magic." She could feel tears starting to form and fought for control. Questions flitted across her mind too quickly for her to actually ask them. Where was she, how did she get here, and, most importantly, how would she get home? Did Willow know what had happened?

"I would have thought such a thing impossible," Roshan said, resuming her forward progress, "but I myself saw you appear in the village square. One second you were not there and then you were. I would not have believed it had I not seen it for myself."

"I, uh, don't really know how it happened," Tara said. "Uh, how come they were going to burn you as a witch? It's pretty obvious you're not one."

Roshan laughed. "I am a… well, let us say a 'scout'," she said. "I am traveling to Tarantia, hoping to take service under the new King of Aquilonia, and I paused at the village to purchase supplies. One of the menfolk made advances to me, pressing me to share his bed, and I rebuffed him. I thought to put an end to further attentions by revealing that I have no interest in men, as my desires are inflamed only by women, but it seems that in this land such a trait is…" Her voice trailed away, her eyebrows rose, and she came to a halt once more. "You are hurt," she said, "and badly, I think. Why did you not say?"

"Hurt? I don't think so," Tara said. She looked down and realized that her light blue top was indeed marred by a large blotch of blood. Perhaps one of the attacking mob at the village had managed to nick her and, in all the excitement, Tara hadn't felt it. She put a hand down inside her top, and felt for a cut, but found nothing. She spotted something else and, eyes widening, pulled out her hand and examined her top more closely.

There was a ragged circular hole in the center of the bloodstain. Surely nothing could have made such a hole, and drawn so much blood, without her noticing? She remembered the splatter of red on Willow's shirt…

Tara tried to look over her shoulder at her back, failed, and turned around. "Is there any blood on my back?" she asked Roshan.

"Indeed there is," Roshan replied. "By the nipples of Ishtar, you must have been skewered right through! By what witchcraft did you survive?"

Tara felt herself beginning to tremble. "I don't think I did," she said, her voice sinking almost to a whisper. "I think this must be my afterlife. I think I must be dead."

**Disclaimer**

The Buffyverse characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights to them remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episode, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television show. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox. The works of Robert E. Howard, including the Conan stories, are in the public domain according to United Kingdom copyright law. In the United States the copyright is claimed by Conan, Inc. and by Paradox Entertainment Inc.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was the need to go to the bathroom – or, rather, the bushes – that finally convinced Tara that she was, indeed, alive. It also spurred her into doing a complete inventory of her possessions.

One pair of sandals, one pair of panties, a bra, a pair of jeans, and a light blue top decorated with blood-stains and two bullet holes. Plus a few small items from the pockets of the jeans; a twenty-dollar bill, thirty-six cents in change, a pair of folding nail scissors, a ChapStick, an apartment key, a quartz crystal, a small wad of tissues, and an emergency reserve tampon. Oh, and a wristwatch that was, to judge by the sun getting closer and closer to the horizon, at least eight or more hours slow by local time.

Not an inspiring collection of possessions with which to build an existence in a new world.

She would have expected the money to be useless but that turned out not to be the case. The bill was indeed useless, except for lighting fires, but Roshan believed that Tara would be able to spend the coins. Tara found it hardly credible but, apparently, the perfect roundness and crisp edges of modern minting were impressive enough to make them valuable. The cents would serve as the bronze coins known as 'coppers' or 'tins' in local parlance, depending on country, and the nickels would be acceptable as silver coins despite containing no silver whatsoever. The total, according to Roshan, would be enough to buy Tara a complete set of clothes, a pig, or two sheep.

Although she'd only want a pig, or two sheep, if she decided to start a new life as a peasant farmer and that didn't have any appeal. What she was going to do was… well, 'panic' was the first thing that came to mind, but it didn't seem a very productive course of action. Unfortunately she couldn't think of anything else, other than clicking her heels together and saying 'There's no place like home…'

So she tried it. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

Roshan stared at her, head tilted to one side, a crease forming between her eyebrows. The expression was familiar to Tara; for a second she couldn't place why and then realized that it was an exact duplicate of one she'd often seen on Spike. The vampire would have followed the look with a question, something like "What the bleedin' Hell are you doing, witch?", but Roshan didn't speak. Tara answered the unspoken question anyway.

"In my, uh, homeland," she explained, "there is a story about a girl who gets carried off by, uh, a whirlwind. She ends up in a strange and distant land and can't find a way home. A good witch advises her to see the wizard, who might be able to get her home, and so she sets off on a journey. She, uh, finds some magic shoes, and she joins up with some companions, and they get to the wizard but he tells her he won't help her unless she defeats a wicked witch. So she sets off, and eventually kills the witch, but the wizard can't get her home after all. Then the good witch tells her she can use the magic shoes to go home. She has to click her heels together three times and say 'there's no place like home'."

"I see," Roshan said. "Obviously it did not work for you."

"I didn't expect it to," Tara said, "but there was no harm in trying." She frowned and tapped her chin with a finger. It had just occurred to her that she'd meant to say 'slippers' in her abbreviated summary of 'The Wizard of Oz' but it had come out as 'shoes'. Why would that be?

"Of course you have no magic shoes," Roshan said. "You have given me an idea, however. Perhaps we should, like the girl in the story, seek the advice of a wizard."

"There are wizards here?"

"Oh, yes," Roshan assured her. "All cities have them. Most of them are evil and not to be trusted. There is one, however, about whom I have heard much that is good and little that is bad. Pelias the Sorcerer."

"A good wizard? That sounds… good. Does he live around here?"

"His home was in Khorshemish, capital of Koth," Roshan said, "and the country of Ophir lies between here and there. Five days hard ride, at the least, if we both had horses."

"And a lot longer than that with me walking," Tara said. "Even if I knew the way, which I don't. Uh, could you tell me how to get there?"

"Tell you? I will take you, of course," Roshan said. "Did you think I would leave the one who saved my life to wander alone? We must get you a horse, and supplies, and your coins will not suffice. Also there is a… problem."

"A problem besides me not having a horse or enough money?"

"Alas, yes. Pelias has not been seen for some years and it is rumored that he has fallen into the hands of his rival, Tsotha-lanti, and languishes in captivity. That is providing he has not been sacrificed to some demon patron of Tsotha, of course, and such is possible, even probable."

"Oh." Tara bit her lip. "That, uh, kinda rules out us going to see him."

Roshan shook her head and grinned. Her teeth flashed white and her eyes sparkled. "Not at all. Wizards are notorious for demanding payment for services rendered and their prices are high. If we called upon Pelias in normal circumstances, requesting his counsel or magical aid, we would need to bring with us pouches brimming with gold. Rescuing him from the dungeons of Tsotha-lanti should serve as a very acceptable substitute."

Tara gulped. It sounded horribly dangerous. "We couldn't just ask this, uh, Tsotha instead?"

Roshan shook her head again but this time there was no grin. "I have heard nothing good of Tsotha-lanti and, if I were to list all the bad I have heard, I would be talking all through the night. To approach him openly and ask for his help would be to walk into the very den of the lion. Nay, the lion would be kinder, for he would only kill and eat us once, and in Tsotha's hands we would die a thousand deaths."

Tara gulped again. Harder and deeper. "Are you, uh, sure trying to rescue the other w-wizard is a g-good idea?"

"Perhaps not," Roshan conceded. She shrugged her shoulders. "Today I came as close to death as I have ever done merely by going to buy oats for Forouzan and meat and fresh fruit for myself. Still, taking risks without need is foolish, I agree, and I cannot deny that there would be risks aplenty. A course, then, to take when all others have been exhausted."

"That seems sensible," Tara agreed.

"So where shall we go, and what shall we do, instead?" Roshan asked. "My original plan to take service under King Conan is perhaps not the wisest move. Not if, in this country, girls who like girls are deemed to be witches and burned at the stake."

"It's b-barbaric!" Tara declared. "W-what do they have against witches and tribades anyway?" She had intended to say more but was brought to a halt by the realization that she hadn't been able to say the word 'lesbians'. It had been replaced, without her making any conscious decision, by the archaic term 'tribades'. Was she, Tara wondered, actually speaking English or had she been somehow taught the local language in its place? There would be no such word as 'lesbian' in a world in which Sappho of Lesbos had never existed. She remembered the way 'slippers' had come out as 'shoes' when she told the story of the Wizard of Oz. Slippers were, if she remembered correctly, a relatively recent innovation. There wouldn't be a word for them if they didn't exist in this world.

Roshan didn't notice Tara's confusion. "I suspect," she said, "that there is a law that gives those who execute a witch the right to the condemned one's property. It may be that my preference for my own gender, sometimes said to be a characteristic of witches, was merely seized on as an excuse to kill me legally and, in fact, they were after my horse and goods."

"That's… horrible." Tara grimaced. Of course, the same principle had been behind most of the witch-trials in Europe; a self-financing, self-perpetuating, chain of torture and death.

"If I am right, and there is such a law, it would have been passed by the late King Namedides," Roshan continued. "No doubt the new king, Conan, will repeal it once it is brought to his attention. I have never met him but I know some who were his friends, and comrades, and from what they tell me of him he would not stand for such an unjust law."

"I should hope not," Tara said. If lesbianism was regarded as a mark of witchcraft, and if witchcraft was punishable by death, then as a lesbian who really was a witch Tara was in trouble twice over.

"Unfortunately obtaining an audience with the king may be a problem," Roshan went on. "There are names that I could drop, once in his presence, which would ensure a hearing. They would mean nothing to his aides, however, and so actually getting there would not be easy." She pursed her lips. "It might be better to leave this country, and go somewhere else, at least for the time being."

"I'll take your word for it," Tara said, "as I don't know anything about any of the countries here anyway." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment and then followed up on the thought that had occurred to her earlier. "Roshan – what language am I speaking?"

Those heavy eyebrows descended low and a crease formed between them. "Hyborian, specifically the dialect spoken in Aquilonia," Roshan replied, staring straight into Tara's eyes. "Your accent is that of Gunderland, as would be expected from someone of your coloring, and if I had not seen with my own eyes you appearing from nowhere, and your strange coins and those tiny and cunningly fashioned shears, I would think that your tale of being from another world was a made-up story."

Even though Tara had been expecting something like that it still sent a cold shiver down her back. "Oh," was all she could say. She'd been taught another language, somehow, replacing English, although she'd been able to read the printing on the twenty and the inscriptions on her coins, and she didn't understand how except that it was obviously by magic. What had Willow done?

"That was a strange thing to ask," Roshan went on. "How did you not know?"

"I, uh, thought I was speaking m-my own language," Tara explained, "b-b-but I, uh, there w-wasn't, uh, things came out wrong, and then I thought that it w-w-was strange if they spoke my language in another world, so I asked."

The furrows in Roshan's forehead became more pronounced. "I am not sure I understand," she said. "I speak six languages but I always know which one I am speaking."

"I don't understand it either," Tara said, "b-but it has to be something t-to do with m-m-m-magic." What had Willow done? What had Willow done? The question kept repeating itself in her head, over and over again, and then eventually some answers started occurring to her.

Tara put a hand to her chest and probed the hole in her top with a finger. She'd been shot, she was sure of it, and the bullet had gone all the way through. It would have been a potentially fatal wound. Willow had been right there, in front of her, close enough to have been splattered by Tara's blood. What would Willow have done? She would have resorted to magic. Not raised Tara from the dead, probably, not after what had happened with Buffy. So, what? A possible answer took shape in Tara's mind.

"She sent me back in time," Tara muttered, speaking to herself and not to Roshan. "To before I was… killed, it must be, but she overshot big time. Only I don't recognize any of the countries, and I was always pretty good at history, and I don't think this is the past I know."

"I did not understand all that you said," Roshan commented, making Tara jump as she suddenly remembered that the other girl was there, "but I take it that you now know who sent you here?"

"I think so," Tara confirmed.

The frown remained on Roshan's face but now her lower lip protruded in a pout. "I had thought you might have been sent to me by Ishtar. When I could not get free by my own efforts I resorted to prayer. I asked that someone should come to my aid, perhaps a mighty warrior or perhaps a true witch, and when you appeared I thought my prayers had been answered."

"Oh." Tara bit her lip again. Willow had a habit of treating spells as if they were computer programs. To obtain result A perform ritual B. If a spell didn't produce the desired result she would assume that she'd done something wrong; a mispronunciation, a mistake in a gesture, a flaw in the ingredients. She could never come to grips with the concept that powerful spells were… negotiations. Requests, entreaties, or demands made of beings with their own agendas; sometimes benevolent, sometimes capricious, occasionally downright evil. And it wasn't always the evil ones who were the trickiest.

"Maybe your goddess, and my friend, both were involved in me coming here," Tara suggested. It was a possible scenario. Willow might, as Tara suspected, have tried to dodge Tara's death by sending her back in time to before she was shot; whatever deity she had called upon had either been Ishtar, who had granted two prayers with one move, or else one deity had traded off favors with another. It would do as a working hypothesis until Tara could manage to come up with some more definite information; if, that is, she ever did find out more.

Roshan's frown vanished and was replaced by a smile that showed off her gleaming white teeth. Tara's thoughts shot off on a tangent, thinking about dental health in a world without modern dental care but also without refined sugar, and from there veered off to considerations of other matters of personal hygiene. It would be a couple of weeks before tampons became an issue but, when they did, she only had the one. She really didn't want to find out what they used as pads in this age… She turned her attention back to Roshan, who was speaking again, and put the digressions out of her mind.

"If you were indeed sent to me by my goddess then it is even more my duty to take care of you," Roshan said. "First we must decide where to spend the night. I spent last night in the city of Shamar, on the border of Aquilonia with Ophir, and I think we should head in that general direction. It is much too far away to reach before nightfall, which draws near, and I am not inclined to seek out a village after my… earlier experience."

"I don't blame you," Tara said.

"Which means," Roshan went on, "that we must spend the night under the stars. Luckily the weather is dry and it should not get too cold at this time of year."

Tara looked at the sun. It was definitely sinking low, as she'd noticed earlier when comparing the local time with that shown on her watch, and in an hour or so it would be dark. "I guess so," she said. "Not that I'm tired. To me this is still the morning. It's only a couple of hours since I woke up."

Roshan's frown returned. "Still the morning?" She cocked her head to one side. "The sages of Corinthia say that when it is noon there it wants yet two hours until noon in Zingara," she said. "I do not understand how they can know that, for they surely cannot be in both places at once, but their wisdom is acknowledged by all. You must, then, have traveled a far greater distance even than all the leagues that lie between Zingara and Corinthia."

Tara realized that, when she'd told the other girl that she'd come from another world, Roshan hadn't understood. Not all that surprising, really, in a medieval-type world. "A long, long, way," she said. "If this was my world my home would be, uh, across the Western Ocean, I think."

"In that case perhaps you could find a ship to take you home," Roshan suggested. The frown was still on her face and her lips were turned down. "You would need a captain both brave and desperate, I think, and bribe him with much gold, but I think I might be able to find such a man in Argos or the Barachan Isles."

Tara shook her head. "It wouldn't work," she said. "This isn't my world. If I did sail across the ocean I'd probably find a land that was a little like my home but not the same." Whether this was an alternate past, or an alternate present-day Earth that had taken a very different course, the Americas were likely to be nothing like the world she knew. The Native Americans would, presumably, be living as they had done prior to the arrival of the Europeans and the introduction of the horse.

"Then we shall not sail there," Roshan said. Her smile was back, as broad as ever, and her eyes seemed to twinkle. "Perhaps, if you like, I could take you to my own city of Yarmouk. From there, if you wish, we could visit Corinthia. Consulting the sages there would be safer than seeking the aid of wizards."

"That sounds like a plan," Tara said, giving Roshan a smile in return.

"It is a plan," Roshan said, her smile remaining but her forehead creasing up. "My plan is that we go from here to Ophir, and then across Koth, and thence to Yarmouk."

"I mean, it sounds like a _good_ plan," Tara clarified. "It's just the way some of my, uh, people speak. We don't always bother to say all the words. If I can't go home then, yes, I'd be happy to go with you to your home city. Uh, if you don't mind, that is. I can't expect you to keep looking after me. I'll have to find some way to earn money. I just don't know what I can do in your world."

"My money is your money, for as long as I live," Roshan said. "Without your aid I would have burned."

"That doesn't mean I should expect you to support me indefinitely," Tara said.

Roshan gave Tara a very Californian eye-roll. "Why not? You were sent here from another world to save my life. It would be shameful of me to take that aid without repaying you in any way that I can. If I can help you return to your own world I will do so. If that is not possible then I shall help you to live in mine."

Tara sensed that she had offended the other girl. "I, uh, you're too kind," she said. "I don't want to take anything for granted."

"You are not taking me for granted, Tara," Roshan said. "I owe you a debt and, also, I like you. To aid you will be my pleasure as well as my duty."

"Thank you," Tara said. "It's very g-good of you."

Roshan shrugged. "If it had been I who was transported to your world, and I had met you in the reverse circumstances, would you not do the same for me? I look at your eyes, which are those of one who is good and kind, and I can tell that you would. It is decided. Let us speak of it no more."

"Very well," Tara said. She had meant to say 'okay' but, once again, the words actually spoken did not match her intentions.

Roshan smiled again and, in one smooth motion, mounted her horse. She stretched out a hand to Tara. "Up behind me," she said, "and we shall move on in search of a suitable place to camp for the night."

Tara obeyed and the horse moved off at a gentle trot. For a little while they rode without conversation, the only sound being that from the horse's hooves and its occasional snorts, and then Roshan spoke again.

"Tell me of your world," she said. "In what ways is it different from this one?"

"I don't know enough about your world to be able to answer that," Tara replied. "I've only seen one village, and a few fields, and heard you mention a couple of places. But I'll tell you about my world if you tell me about yours."

"Of course," Roshan said. "You first."

Tara had no idea how to describe twenty-first century America to a warrior woman from a world with peasants, witch-burning, and wizards. She decided to start with the small things and told Roshan about Sunnydale, about Willow, and about Buffy and the others. She didn't go into detail, of course, merely giving brief descriptions and character sketches, and throwing in a few background items about America.

"This Buffy, the Slayer, she sounds a little like me," Roshan commented, "although I am no stronger than other women and I do not know if I could defeat demons. Also I fight only for pay."

"Oh?" Tara raised her eyebrows even though Roshan couldn't see her face. "Really?"

"No, not only for pay," Roshan admitted, confirming Tara's impression. "Also for my family, or my friends, if they were in danger. To defend those I care about."

"Just like Buffy, really," Tara said.

"You flatter me," Roshan said, her voice giving away that she was smiling, "but I will try to live up to her. So, it was she who taught you to fight so well?"

"Uh, actually, no," Tara said. "It was Spike, the vampire, and really he just taught me a few moves to help me protect myself. I'm really not any good at fighting. What you saw is pretty much all I can do. It's just that the, uh, villagers were even worse at it than I am."

Roshan turned in the saddle and looked at Tara. "High indeed must be the standards by which you judge yourself, if you say you are not skilled at combat," she said. "I would like you to teach me what he taught you."

"I really don't know all that much," Tara said, "but I'll be happy to show you what I do know."

"Strange indeed to have a vampire as a friend," Roshan went on, turning to face forward once more. "In our tales they lurk in Stygian crypts, preying upon unwary tomb robbers, grim and terrible creatures who have given up all that made them human in exchange for eternal youth."

"They're much the same back home," Tara said, "but Spike was… different." Calling Spike a 'friend' might have been stretching the truth a little but she wasn't going to bother correcting Roshan. She left the topic of Spike and moved on to talk about the other Scoobies.

"I saw a spot a little way back that would make a suitable campsite," Roshan interrupted her, after a minute or so. "I doubt if we will find anywhere better before dusk and so we shall go back to that place." She spoke curtly, almost harshly, rather to Tara's surprise.

"You're the expert," Tara said, as Roshan turned the horse around and they retraced their steps. Tara was slightly taken aback by the change in Roshan's tone. It was almost as if Roshan had seized upon an excuse to cut Tara's account off short. Had she somehow offended Roshan? Tara couldn't imagine how. She'd only been describing Willow. Maybe Roshan had simply become bored with listening to tales of people she'd never met.

"This will do," Roshan said, bringing the horse to a halt in a grassy area no different, in Tara's eyes, from a dozen other places they had passed. Tara clambered down from the horse's back, stood on the grass, and stretched to ease her aching limbs. Roshan dismounted in one smooth motion.

"You are unaccustomed to riding, I think," Roshan observed.

"It's been a while since I last rode a horse," Tara confirmed. "We don't use horses much back where I come from. We have, uh, horseless carriages."

"Pulled by slaves, then? Surely that must be slow and awkward," Roshan said. She lifted a set of saddle-bags from the horse and deposited them on the ground.

Tara shook her head. "They don't need anything to pull them. They move by themselves." She tried to think of a word meaning 'engine' and came up blank. There was no equivalent term in the local language. "It's, uh, magic."

"Magic must be widespread indeed in your world if magical chariots have taken the place of horses," Roshan commented. She unbuckled the saddle's straps and lifted it free. "Tell me more of your world," she requested.

Tara raised her eyebrows. She'd been sure that Roshan had been fed up with hearing her talk. It seemed that her deduction had been incorrect. Something else, then, had caused that oddly curt note to creep into the other girl's voice. "Very well," she agreed, and began to relate tales of the marvels of modern technology; hampered, quite often, by the absence of the words with which to describe them. Roshan listened, making occasional pertinent comments, while she went about the business of preparing for the night's rest.

"I will not light a fire until after it is completely dark," Roshan said eventually, during a natural break in Tara's tale. "Smoke can be seen at a great distance, and may draw unwelcome attention, whereas the trees around us will screen the fire from prying eyes except at close quarters."

"That makes sense," Tara agreed. She looked at the sky, trying to gauge the position of the sun, but the trees made it difficult. All she could tell was that some of the brighter stars were already visible. There was enough light to read by, she thought, but not for much longer. Not that she had anything to read…

"Roshan, do you have a map?" Tara asked, struck by a sudden thought. "Uh, a one showing the countries around here, that is, not just a one of this area."

"I do not," Roshan said. "Had I parchment, and a stick of charcoal, I could draw one. Alas, I have neither." She pursed her lips. "I could perhaps scratch out a crude map on the ground, if there is a patch of bare earth large enough, that might serve to give you an idea of how the countries lie in relation to each other."

"No, it's alright, it's not that important," Tara said. "I'm sure I'll see one eventually. You could tell me about the, uh, lay of the land instead. That would be just as good."

"Of course," Roshan said, smiling, and she began. She unpacked blankets, dried food, an oilskin package of dry kindling, and a water-skin, and as she did so she talked of the world in which she lived.

The names flowed in an exotic and unfamiliar stream. Aquilonia, Nemedia, Argos, Ophir, Koth, Zingara, Shem, Corinthia, Cimmeria, Khauran, Khoraja, Yarmouk, Zamora, Stygia. Tara lost track almost immediately of their geographical relationship with each other. She gathered that Aquilonia, where they were now, was the wealthiest and most powerful kingdom on the continent. Yarmouk, Roshan's homeland, was a little city-state that ranked on this world's scale of influence as probably the equivalent of Luxembourg.

Armies were made up of knights in armor, bowmen, and pikemen. The most sophisticated piece of military hardware available was the crossbow. Gunpowder was unknown, except perhaps as the secret behind some of the things wizards could do, the only transport not reliant on muscle power was the sailing ship, and the only device in common use that could really be called a 'machine' was the water-mill. Very much like the historical Middle Ages, technology-wise, although the political and religious structure of the world seemed to be very different.

Adjusting to this world was going to be difficult. It wasn't as if she had any choice, however, and at least she had found someone to help her. Someone who seemed to be extremely competent, who was friendly and pleasant, and who definitely seemed to like… Tara… a lot…

Oh.

Tara suddenly felt her cheeks flame as realization struck home. 'Like' wasn't quite the right word. That was why Roshan had reacted negatively when Tara had talked about Willow. Sleeping Beauty probably wouldn't have been wildly enthusiastic if Prince Charming, after hacking his way through the thorn forest and waking her with a kiss, had launched into a glowing description of Snow White.

Tara shot a quick glance, from under lowered eyelids, at the other girl. Roshan was bent over in the act of lighting a fire, looking away from Tara, and she wouldn't have noticed Tara's blush. So Tara could, if she wanted, pretend to be still oblivious to Roshan's interest. Or she could actively discourage Roshan. Then again… if she was stuck in this world indefinitely, perhaps rebuffing Roshan might not be such a good idea. Better to stay safely in the land of De Nile, for the time being, and act as if she hadn't noticed.

Tara stared up at the stars, flaming brightly in a jet-black sky, and wondered how Willow was coping without her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Willow pushed the lifeless thing that had passed as Warren and it fell over. "Guess you don't need to call the cops after all," she said to the bus driver. "False alarm."

"That's… a robot," the driver gasped.

"Sure is," Buffy confirmed. "A decoy."

"Yeah," said Xander. He nodded to the bus driver. "Thank you for your co-operation." He picked the inert robot up, grunting with the weight, and tried to sling it over his shoulder. "Jeez, that thing's heavy," he said. "Buffy, you'd better take it."

"Why?" Buffy asked, but she took the robot from him and swung it into a Fireman's Carry.

"Maybe we could use it to repair the Buffy-bot," Xander said. "You never know, it could be useful, and we can always dump it later if it isn't."

Willow turned away and began to walk back to the car. "He tricked me," she said. "We'll have to find him another way."

"And then what?" Buffy asked, following her at a brisk walk despite the robot's weight.

"I'm kinda tempted to kill him," Willow said, "but handing him over to the cops would do instead, I guess, as long as we could be sure he'll go away for a long, long, time."

"Hey, Will, what's with the vengeance kick?" Xander asked. "Okay, he shot Buffy, and he's a scumbag who really needs to be put away for everybody's safety, but she got better. We don't kill humans."

Willow spun on her heel and faced him. "He shot Tara," she growled. "When he shot Buffy he hit her too. Upstairs in my room."

"Oh, my God," Buffy gasped.

"Guess the last shot was the charm," Willow went on. "I'm not letting him get away with it."

"She's… dead?" Xander asked.

Willow shook her head. "She would have died," she said, "but I managed to save her."

"So where is she?" asked Buffy. "In the hospital?"

"In an alternate dimension," Willow replied. "The same one I sent Olaf to. She's not dead but I don't know how I'm going to get her back. And I'm not even going to try until I know that Warren's out of the way and can't hurt her again."

"You sent Tara to the Land of the Trolls?" Xander's eyebrows climbed so high they almost reached his hairline.

"Apparently I missed," Willow explained. "Olaf went to somewhere called Hyboria. It seems to be some kind of Dungeons and Dragons world. Now Tara's there too." She resumed her progress toward the car.

"You have a whole lot to tell us," Xander said.

"Even him shooting Tara doesn't mean we can kill Warren," Buffy said. "He's still a human."

Willow's mouth twisted. "Maybe we can't," she said, "but no way am I going to let him run around loose. I'm tempted to take out Spike's chip and send him after Warren. He always liked Tara."

"You can't do that!" Xander protested. "Spike's dangerous to us. He tried to rape Buffy!"

"What?" Willow spun around again.

"That's… an exaggeration," Buffy said, aiming a medium-intensity glare at Xander. "We had a bad fight, and he went way too far, but it wasn't rape. Sexual assault, I guess you could call it, and he's blown any chance he ever had of getting back together with me, but that's all. But, right now, maybe you're right and he would be dangerous with the chip out. He wouldn't touch Dawn, and he likes Tara, but Xander… might not be safe."

"He'd kill me for sure," Xander agreed. "Although… if we use him to get Warren, and then dust him – no, I hate to say it, but only a total jerk would play a trick like that. Maybe if he promised to leave town after…"

"Using Spike to kill Warren would be no different than killing him ourselves," Buffy said. "The chip stays. That doesn't mean we can't make some use of Spike. He could track Warren for us, or he could bodyguard Dawn while we hunt, or maybe he could terrify Warren into confessing. He scared Warren into making the Bot, after all."

"As long as Warren hasn't found out about the chip," Willow said. "With all those cameras he had spying on us he could have learned pretty much anything. Come on, we're wasting time. We can talk more in the car." She set her jaw into Resolve Face. "But one thing's for sure. The only two ways Warren leaves Sunnydale are in handcuffs on the way to prison or in a coffin."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"I do not recognize the king's head, or the script," the money-changer said. He frowned at Tara. "They are well-minted, admittedly, and for that reason I will accept them at almost face value. I'll take the coppers as my commission and give you three silver pieces for the lot."

Tara would have accepted the offer but Roshan had insisted on handling the negotiations. She turned to Roshan and raised her eyebrows.

"Three silver pieces? You jest," Roshan said to the money-changer. "I saw the avarice in your eyes as you gazed upon the coins. You can sell them to a collector, I know, for far more than you offer us." She stared him in the face. "I suspect you will be able to get golden lunas even for the coppers."

"Gold for copper coins? Ridiculous," the money-changer scoffed. "True, the minting is masterful, and I may indeed be able to sell them at a profit…"

"A very large profit," Roshan said. She narrowed her eyes. "We will accept ten golden lunas."

"Ten? Certainly not," the money-changer said. He licked his lips. "Four."

"Eight," countered Roshan.

"Six," the money-changer offered.

"Seven, and ten pieces of silver," said Roshan.

"Six gold and ten silvers."

"Six gold and fifteen silver pieces," Roshan proposed.

The money-changer hesitated, drummed his fingers on his bench, and then nodded. "Six golden lunas and fifteen silver stars," he said. "We have a deal."

"That went even better than I expected," Roshan said, after they had departed from the moneychanger's shop. "You now have enough to purchase, for instance, a riding horse and tack."

"That w-was amazing," Tara said. "I could never have done it. I'd have considered myself lucky to get three silver pieces."

Roshan shrugged her shoulders. "My father is a merchant," she said, "and I have learnt to read the faces of those with whom I trade. I could tell that he was eager to purchase the coins. It was merely a matter of finding out just how eager."

"And he'll really make a profit?"

"He thinks so, which is the important thing," Roshan said, "and I suspect that he may well be correct." She focused her gaze on Tara's chest, causing Tara to blush slightly, and narrowed her eyes. "We must buy you another garment to replace your shirt, or to cover it," Roshan observed. "Those blood-stained holes may draw attention. People might think you took the shirt from a dead body. That is… frowned upon."

"I should think so too," Tara said.

"Personally," Roshan continued, "I take from the dead only coins and gems."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The meal at the inn was roast beef accompanied by an unfamiliar, and rather pleasant, variety of cabbage. Tara ate enthusiastically; she was hungry and recognized that her usual inclination towards vegetarianism was unsustainable in this age. The beef was available only in well done form; in a culture that probably had little idea about food hygiene that was probably a good thing. So, too, was the provision of only ale to wash it down. In what was effectively a medieval city it might not be safe to drink the water. And they hadn't invented toilet paper here.

As she ate the cabbage Tara mused on some of the other things she might never see again. Not just the technological products of the twenty-first century but basic foodstuffs that originated in the New World that, in this place, hadn't been discovered. Potatoes, tomatoes, corn, turkey, and chocolate; the only way to taste any of them again would be to find a crew willing and able to sail across thousands of miles of unknown ocean. For chocolate, Tara thought, it might just be worth it; of course then she'd have to deal with whatever ancestors of the Aztecs, or the Mayans, existed here and avoid having her heart cut out as an offering to the Sun God. Perhaps not.

At least, according to Roshan, this world did have coffee. It was rare, obtainable only from a few merchants who traded with Turan, and very expensive, but it did exist. Roshan had tasted it only once and hadn't liked it. Sugar, too, was a rare and expensive import from the mysterious East. Honey was the only sweetener for all but the very rich. This wasn't a problem for Tara, as honey was her sweetener of choice anyway, but it was another way in which this world differed from the one with which she was familiar.

"Ho, pretty ladies, what do you in this tavern?" A male voice broke into Tara's chain of thought. "If it is male company you seek you need look no further." It seemed at least one thing was pretty much the same as back home. The speaker was a big man, no doubt a warrior of some kind, who was clad in a chain-mail hauberk and had a massive axe strapped to his back. He was reasonably clean, his beard was neatly trimmed, and he would have counted as handsome to most girls who liked their partners with a 'Y' chromosome. He, and another warrior who was smaller and more lightly armored, were gazing at Tara and Roshan like cats gazing at fresh salmon.

"We seek no male company," Roshan replied. "We are tired from long travel, and have far yet to go, and seek only rest."

"Oh? To where do you travel?" asked the man, obviously not discouraged.

Roshan sucked in her lower lip briefly, glanced at Tara, and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. If Tara read the body language right Roshan was regretting not being able to say straight out that she was gay; it would have been her usual way of cutting off a male making approaches, Tara believed, but the possibility of it getting her burnt as a witch rendered that tactic unusable. "We were on the way to Tarantia to seek audience with King Conan," Roshan replied. "A mischance meant that we had only one horse between the two of us. We turned back and came here to purchase a fresh horse."

"Ah, then your misfortune has turned slightly to your advantage," the warrior said. "King Conan is not in Tarantia. He passed through here just yesterday on his way to visit Ophir. He had five thousand knights of his guard escorting him; I would think that the two of you, traveling light, should be able to catch up with such a cavalcade. Or you could wait here, and save yourself a journey, for he will no doubt pass through Shamar again on his return."

"That's not a bad idea," Roshan said. "I think we shall follow the King's trail, rather than awaiting him here, for staying in an inn is too expensive and it is hard, in a city, to find a family who would offer travelers a bed. Especially when two travel together. What say you, Tara?"

"Uh, yes, why not?" Tara replied. She was all in favor of getting out of the city; it was smelly, intimidating, pitch dark at night, and it didn't even have much in the way of clothes shops. Apparently the poor made their own clothes, the rich had them tailored, and the only way to buy clothes ready-made was to purchase them second-hand; which, she had rather disturbingly discovered, usually meant that the garments' original wearers were deceased.

"Then that is what we shall do," Roshan said. "When tomorrow dawns we shall buy a horse for you and then set out."

"I agree," Tara said. She had meant to say 'Okay' but, as she had discovered the previous day, the word didn't seem to exist in the local language. "Uh, Roshan," she added, as a thought occurred to her, "Why didn't we buy a horse today? That was what we came to the city for, after all."

"Because," Roshan explained, "had we done so, we would have had to pay for its stabling tonight."

"I think," said the warrior who had not yet spoken, addressing Tara, "that you are new to the life of a wandering adventurer." His eyes narrowed. "Or you are a maiden running away from your family."

"Even if that were the case, which it is not," Roshan said, a hard edge coming into her voice, "it would be no business of yours."

Tara felt her cheeks flaming at the mention of running away from her family. The two men both glanced in her direction, and could hardly have failed to notice and to draw the – incorrect – conclusion that Roshan was lying, but they did not call her on it.

"If you go to see the King," the first speaker said, "then it is the King's business. And far be it from me to question the decisions of King Conan." He paused to take a swig from his flagon of ale. "Perhaps we could escort you to the King? The journey would be safer with four than with two and both of us," he waved his hands in a gesture encompassing him and his companion, slopping ale over the edge of his goblet in the process, "are experienced fighters."

"Thank you, but no," said Roshan. "I know you not." She shrugged her shoulders. "I am sure you understand my caution."

The bearded warrior nodded. "I do, and I am not offended. We shall be breaking fast here in the morning if you change your mind."

"We won't," Roshan said, "but thank you again. Now, as we are tired, we shall retire to bed. I bid you goodnight."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Tara prodded the mattress. Straw filling. She lifted up the corner and saw that it was supported by a lattice of leather strips stretching across the bed's timber frame. It wouldn't be as comfortable as the sprung mattresses she was used to but it shouldn't be too bad. Of course the comfort, or otherwise, of the mattress was a minor point compared with the bed's most significant attribute.

It was a double.

While Tara was examining the bed Roshan was going around the room scrutinizing the walls. She peered closely at them, ran her hands over the surface, and tapped on them in several places.

"What are you doing?" Tara asked.

"Checking for secret doors," Roshan answered. "It is not unknown for innkeepers to be in league with thieves. To assume that we are secure, just because the door is bolted, is to risk being robbed, or raped, or taken captive to be sold to slavers." Tara gulped. Roshan went to the door, worked the bolt a couple of times, and bent to peer at the screws that held it in place. "But such is not the case here," she judged. "We may rest safely." She turned away from the door, unfastened her sword-belt, and leaned the weapon against the wall near the head of the bed.

"Uh, that's g-good," Tara said. She unfastened the embroidered jerkin that she now wore, her fingers fumbling with the ties, and took it off to reveal the blood-stained blue top. She hesitated before going any further. The few garments she had managed to buy, before the merchants closed up for the night, did not include any nightwear. Sleeping in her clothes, as she had done the previous night when they had camped out in the wilds, didn't appeal. On the other hand sleeping in the nude, next to a hot lesbian who was clearly attracted to her, was… maybe a little too appealing for Tara's peace of mind.

Roshan sat on the side of the bed, pulled off her boots, and then rose and unfastened her pants. Tara averted her eyes, sat down on the other side of the bed, and removed her sandals. She decided that sleeping in her bullet-punctured top was probably the best compromise between nudity and sleeping fully dressed; at least, that way, the only garment that acquired more sweat would be the one that was already in need of a thorough wash and serious darning or patching. She stood up, pulled down what was undoubtedly the only zip fastener on the planet, and took off her jeans.

"If you desire a measure of… privacy in bed," Roshan suggested, "we could place the bolster down the middle to serve as a divider."

Tara felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "That's not a bad…" she began, turning to look at Roshan, and the breath caught in her throat.

Clothed, Roshan was no more than moderately attractive. Her beak of a nose detracted from what would otherwise have been a very pretty face. Naked, however, she was… stunning. She had the slim and lithe figure of a professional tennis player, small but perfectly formed breasts that jutted out proudly, golden skin against which her brown nipples stood out and looked… very lickable; Tara had to force herself to look away. She took a deep breath and thought of Willow.

"Uh, yes, it w-w-would be a good idea to put the, uh, bolster down the middle of the bed," she managed to say. "Then w-w-we can, uh, sleep without disturbing each other."

Roshan's left eyebrow quirked upward slightly and she smiled. Tara had the distinct feeling that the other girl knew exactly how tempted she had been. "As you wish, so shall it be," Roshan said, pulling back the bedclothes and positioning the long pillow. "Sleep well."

Tara didn't. She lay awake for a long time, very conscious of the girl on the other side of the bolster, and wondering what that whipcord-muscled body would feel like in her arms. Probably, she decided, rather like Buffy; if Buffy was gay and six inches taller. Eventually she fell asleep while wondering what was happening back in Sunnydale and what Buffy, and Willow, were doing.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Buffy staggered as the bullet hit her in the center of her chest.

"Take that, bitch!" Warren cried. He fired again and the blonde figure fell to the ground and lay still. "Yeah! Slayer strength can't beat Mister Smith and Mister Wesson."

The fallen girl stirred. Her hands moved, and then her legs, and she clambered slowly to her feet.

Warren took aim and pulled the trigger once more. It was too dark to see the bullet strike the target, especially as the muzzle flashes had ruined his night vision, but he knew that he'd scored another hit. His victim collapsed but then began to rise again.

"Bitch!" Warren growled. "Why don't you just stay dead?" He fired twice, without apparent effect, and then squeezed the trigger again and again in a fusillade of shots until the last cartridge in the magazine was gone and the pistol's slide locked back. The Slayer had gone down again and this time she wasn't moving.

"Have you finished?"

It was Buffy's voice, coming from above and behind, and Warren yelped in surprise. He spun around, fumbling with the magazine release and simultaneously grabbing for the spare magazine in his pocket, but he'd only just managed to jettison the empty mag when Buffy dropped out of a tree and landed beside him.

"H-how?" Warren gasped. His question turned into another gasp, this time of pain, as a hand closed on his wrist with a grip like a bear trap. "That's the robot? But it was destroyed."

"Pretty much, yeah," Buffy confirmed. "Except we still had the top half. And then you, very helpfully, provided us with a new bottom half. From the waist down that thing," she pointed with her free hand, "is you. And can I say how totally glad I am that Xander was around to do the joining together bit and save me from finding out if it's – eww – anatomically correct. We couldn't get it to do much more than walk, and Willow had to steer it with magic or it would have just gone in a straight line until it collided with a wall, but that was all we needed."

Warren brought his left hand across and tried to punch her in the face. Buffy intercepted the blow and twisted him around until she had both his arms pinioned behind his back. "Mister Smith and Mister Wesson can't do jack against a Slayer if they run out of bullets," she said. "Now stop struggling and come along quietly or I'll dislocate both your arms."

Warren stopped struggling and stared at the motionless robot. "I thought I'd put Willow out of action," he said.

"Oh, please. You thought you could trap _Willow_ with a couple of tricks you picked up from Rack? Get real."

"You know about Rack?" Warren's jaw dropped.

"Who do you think told us where we could find you?" Buffy replied.

"And she only had to break three of his fingers," another female voice chimed in from behind them. Willow. "Go on, Buffy, break something of Warren's."

"Slayers aren't allowed to hurt humans," Warren protested. His voice quavered.

"Wrong," Buffy said. "When you started using magic for evil you put yourself in my jurisdiction. Apparently there's a whole section in the Slayers' Handbook about what I'm allowed to do to warlocks. I can inflict 'sundry divers punishments'. I thought that meant, like, feeding them to giant squids, or cutting off their air supply, but Giles tells me it just means 'various'. There's a whole lot of wiggle room for me to get inventive. So," she wrenched Warren's arms painfully up behind his back, "I'd recommend that you plead 'Guilty' to everything. If you beat the rap then it'll be up to me to deal with you. And, after watching you pump bullets into something with my face, I don't have a problem with cutting off your air supply. Permanently."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"We shall see the plain of Shamu as we crest this ridge," Roshan told Tara, as they rode toward the crest of a hill. "It is there that King Conan is to meet with King Amalrus of Ophir. We have made good time and might even–" She broke off in mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the scene beyond the ridge, and pulled her steed to a halt. She rose in her stirrups and stared for a moment and then turned to Tara and snapped out an urgent command. "Get back! Move away from the brow of the hill, and quickly!"

Tara wheeled her horse, obeying Roshan's command, and retreated a few yards down the trail. "What is it?" she asked, as Roshan made a hasty dismount and then led her horse back to join Tara. She had caught only a brief glimpse of a crowd of people in the distance and it had meant nothing to her.

"It's a trap," Roshan explained. "King Amalrus is there to meet Conan, as agreed – but he is there with his whole army, drawn up in full battle order, and I saw the banners of Koth flying too. This is no parley between kings but, rather, black treachery. Conan will be attacked by both hosts – and he has with him only the cavalry of his Royal Guard."

Tara didn't know much about the political set-up in this world, as yet, but she had gathered that King Conan was, in Roshan's opinion, one of the good guys. "Oh, dear," she said, and then winced at the inadequacy of her words. "Uh, could we… warn him?"

Roshan shook her head. "Too late," she said. "I could see Conan's men already there. They are maneuvering from line of march into battle formation. May the gods grant that they finish before Amalrus attacks. I must know how the battle goes. Let us go back to the crest of the hill and watch."

"I suppose we should," said Tara. She wasn't wildly enthusiastic about watching a battle but could see that Roshan had good reason. She climbed down from her horse, in a move considerably less smooth than Roshan's effortless dismount, and tethered the animal to a tree.

"Keep below the crest," Roshan cautioned her, as they went back up to the top of the hill. "Do not allow yourself to be silhouetted against the skyline. Lie flat and expose only your head."

"Right, I'll be careful," Tara said. "I know about not letting yourself be skylined." She followed Roshan's example, and found a vantage point where she wouldn't be visible to the armies down below, and then settled down to watch.

"There are forty thousand at the least, I make it, cavalry, pikemen, and archers," Roshan said, after a moment, "against Conan's five thousand knights. It will be a slaughter."

It was amazing to Tara that Roshan could manage to count such a horde. "Why don't they just retreat?" she asked. "Surely they don't have to fight. Or is it some kind of… honor thing? Uh, what do they call it, chivalry?"

"A knight cannot fight, or defend himself with his shield, while heading away from the enemy," Roshan explained. "Only by going forward can he win. If this was closer to the border of Aquilonia then, perhaps, it would be worth them trying to escape but, this deep in Ophir, they could not reach safety before exhaustion compelled them to halt. And then they would be attacked as they camped. It would be massacre." She shook her head again. "At least, if they fight here, they can make the enemy pay in blood for this treachery before they die." She tilted her head to one side and half-closed her eyes. "With luck, even, they might buy enough time for King Conan to win clear and escape."

"I hope so," Tara said. She watched the formations of armored men moving on the plain below and tried to make sense of what was happening. At this distance it was like looking at wargaming figures on a table. All she could be sure of was that the small group that had arrived from the north, who flew black flags emblazoned with a brighter symbol that she couldn't make out, were charging into a hail of arrows.

"Ishtar's tits!" Roshan swore. "Conan rides at the head of his men. He will be slain most surely." Tara had no idea how Roshan could recognize an armored figure at such long range. She must have exceptional vision. "I should have known," Roshan went on. "It is because he asks nothing of his men that he would not do himself that he is a great king. Yet in this instance it is folly." She bared her teeth in a snarl. "I shall return to Yarmouk and tell Olaf of Conan's fall. He will wreak dreadful vengeance upon the treacherous Amalrus."

"Olaf?"

"The Captain of the Royal Guard of Yarmouk," Roshan said. "Men call him Olaf the Troll. A mighty man, a full head taller than any other I have seen, and sworn sword-brother to Conan. None can stand against him, when he wields his great warhammer in battle, save only King Conan himself."

"Olaf… the… Troll. Oh." Tara gulped. "Is he… green?"

"His skin is indeed of a greenish shade," Roshan confirmed. She turned her gaze away from the battle, briefly, and stared at Tara. "I remember now; Olaf said that he had been transported here from another world. Was that your world?"

"Uh, yeah," Tara admitted. This was the world to which Willow had sent Olaf? She'd been aiming for the Land of the Trolls but, as so often seemed to happen when Willow did complex magic, it must have gone wrong. Or maybe there wasn't any such place as a Land of Trolls and the magic had simply sent Olaf to the most appropriate alternative. It didn't explain how Tara had ended up here, of course, unless the first spell had established some kind of a connection between Willow and this dimension of swords and sorcery. Tara tried to think back to the events of Olaf's visit to Sunnydale. "Uh, do you have shrimp in this world?" she asked.

"Shrimp?" Roshan's forehead creased up. "Are you hungry?" She wriggled back away from the hill crest, stood up, and went to the horses. She returned a minute later, walking bent right over to keep out of sight, with her hands full. "I have no shrimp," she said, "but perhaps this will do." She handed Tara a piece of cheese and an apple, lay down again, and resumed her observation of the battle while munching on an apple of her own.

"It wasn't what I meant," Tara said. "One of my friends thought that Willow might have sent Olaf to a world without shrimp. I was just wondering if that had happened. But thanks anyway." She bit into the cheese and gazed down at the battle. It seemed incongruous, even disrespectful, to be eating while watching men die; war as a spectator sport. Although, maybe not so different from her own world. She remembered a passage from a song she'd heard on Giles' record player once:

_Hey bartender over here_

_Two more shots_

_And two more beers_

_Sir, turn up the TV sound_

_The war has started on the ground…_

And so Tara watched and munched on an apple, with 'the bravery of being out of range', as the gallant but doomed charge bogged down, and pikemen and archers closed in behind the knights, and brave men were slaughtered. The screams of the wounded and the dying were faint at this distance and Tara was able to hear another sound closer at hand. She turned her head and saw that Roshan was crying.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"Stop crying, Willow," Anya commanded. "You're getting tears on the books and some of them are extremely valuable." In the past, after beating the bad guys, the Scoobies had gone forth and partied. This time, in the circumstances, the party had been replaced with a research session at the Magic Box.

"Hey, leave Willow alone," Xander protested. "She's been through enough."

Anya folded her arms and glared at him. "No, you're the expert at leaving people alone," she said. "Especially at the altar."

"Stop it, both of you," said Buffy. "Getting Tara back is more important than your bickering. You haven't found out anything, I guess, Willow?"

Willow dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Sorry, Anya," she said. "No, not a thing, Buffy. The Keeper said that it might be possible to bring Tara back if I 'penetrate the mysteries', but I can't even find out what the mysteries are. I'm totally stuck."

"Don't give up," Buffy said. "I called Giles, to let him know what had gone down, and he's going to come back soon. A week or so. There isn't anyone better at research than Giles. If there's any way of bringing Tara back he'll find it."

"After he shouts at me," Willow said, glumly.

"Wouldn't getting Tara back be worth putting up with a little scolding?" Buffy asked.

"You're right," Willow said. "But I w…" She chopped her word off short and glanced at Anya. "I'd really like him to come back sooner than in a week," she said, avoiding the word 'wish'. "According to what the Keeper said, Tara's in a dimension that Olaf the Troll fits right into like it was made for him. Tara will be really out of place there. She's probably totally miserable. Maybe even in danger."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The battle was over, and the Aquilonian force had been wiped out, but there was still fighting going on. A single man remained alive, surrounded by an entire army, his back against a barrier formed of dead horses and men, hacking down all who came near.

"It is Conan himself," Roshan told Tara. "I told you that he was a warrior without equal. Yet even he will fall, at the last, for they will bring up archers and shoot him down like a dog." She paused to wipe her eyes. "We must be ready to run," Roshan went on, "if any begin to ascend this slope. To be caught by soldiers, in the aftermath of a battle, would be... very unpleasant for us."

"We might as well go now," Tara suggested. "It's not like we're doing any good here."

"No, I would see Conan's end, that I might tell it to bards who can recount it in song," Roshan said. "It cannot be long now. Hold, what is this?"

The ring of mail-clad soldiers surrounding the lone warrior parted and a single man walked through the gap. He seemed to be clad in robes, rather than in armor, and bore no visible weapons. The king took a step forward to meet the newcomer, steel flashed as he swung his broadsword, and then the king toppled to the ground and lay still.

"What happened?" Tara asked.

"Magic," Roshan replied. "They did not fell Conan with arrows but with sorcery. It was a wizard, perhaps Tsotha-lanti himself, who brought him down." She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit on it. "I wonder…"

"What?"

Roshan didn't reply for a while. She was watching intently as the wizard summoned men who carried off the body of the king. "I think they have taken Conan alive," she said at last. "Yes, they are fastening him in chains. He lives."

"That's… good," Tara said. Memories of European Medieval history floated to the surface of her mind. "Will they, uh, hold him to ransom?"

"Perhaps," Roshan said. She bit on her lip again. "I think not. Ophir, even allied with Koth, could never take and hold Aquilonia for long. I suspect they have an Aquilonian pretender lined up to seize the throne, with their aid, and to rule as their puppet. Such a man might decide, in time, to rule for himself. Conan, in captivity, would serve as an axe hanging over the neck of the pretender. He would not dare to rebel against his masters lest they release Conan to destroy him."

"But surely he'd want to destroy the kings of, uh, Ophir and Koth even more," Tara said.

"True," said Roshan, "but it would be a measure of last resort. And I merely speculate. The intentions of his captors might be quite different. Tsotha-lanti may even intend to sacrifice Conan to some demon patron. See, it is the wizard's chariot, not that of one of the kings, into which they are placing King Conan."

"That's horrible!" Tara said. "They sacrifice people to demons here?"

"Only the blackest of sorcerers do such things," Roshan said. "Tsotha-lanti, alas, is one of that vile breed. Conan will be in dire peril even as he languishes in the dungeon."

"That's terrible," Tara said, "but there isn't anything we can do about it. So, what should we do now? Head off to your homeland?" She hoped Roshan wouldn't choose that option; Tara had crossed Olaf's path only briefly, and he probably wouldn't remember her, but if he did, and if he still bore a grudge against Willow, things could get awkward. "Go back to Aquilonia and tell them that their king's been captured?"

"It is likely that we would not be believed," Roshan said, "until the armies of Ophir and Koth arrive at their gates, and then it would be too late. Perhaps we should indeed go to Yarmouk. Olaf would… no, I have a better idea." Her face lit up with a smile for the first time since the battle had begun. "One that might bring us great glory and gold too; treasure enough, perhaps, to keep us in comfort for years to come. We shall rescue King Conan ourselves."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Disclaimer: the song lyrics quoted in this chapter are from '_The Bravery of Being out of Range_' by Roger Waters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"We will find no better site to camp for tonight than this," Roshan declared, "and, though it wants yet an hour 'til sunset, I say we should stop here rather than pressing on."

The grassy clearing certainly appeared to be an ideal place to spend the night. An outcrop of rock sheltered it at one side and trees screened the other sides. A stream emerged from the rock and ran along one side of the glade, expanded into a little pool, and then disappeared into the woods. The clearing wouldn't get much sunshine, except perhaps at high noon, but that wasn't a disadvantage in an evening campsite.

"It looks almost too good to be true," Tara said.

"Indeed, for such an inviting spot to be deserted could mean that it is the abode of savage beasts or demons," Roshan said, "but such is not the case. I camped here before, on my way to Aquilonia, and I will show you how I knew it was safe. Come." She swung down from her horse, Tara followed suit, and Roshan led Tara to the pool. "See," Roshan said, pointing at the mud at the water's edge. "Otter spoor. They are harmless creatures, too small to be a threat to us, but they would not stay here if there was a nearby lair of wolves, or bears, or something worse. And their presence means that humans must come here rarely or they would trap the otters for their fur. We may sleep in safety."

Tara felt a momentary revulsion at the thought of killing otters for their fur, cute and harmless creatures as they were, but forced herself to put aside her emotions and think rationally. In this age, with no artificial fabrics or central heating, fur would be a vital source of warm clothing. The practicalities of life in this environment left no room for sentimentality about animals. Except, perhaps, for dogs, cats, and – as illustrated by the obvious affection Roshan displayed toward her mare Forouzan – horses.

"I left the otters alone," Roshan went on, "for I have little skill at skinning beasts and their pelts would have lost most of their value if I had taken them. Better to leave them alone, to serve as sentries who would give warning by their absence if this place was no longer safe, than to kill them for profit. Also," Roshan said, her lips curling in a warm smile, "they are friendly and playful creatures, like unto innocent children in many ways, and it would be a shameful deed to slay them except in dire need."

Tara smiled back. To hear the fierce warrior maiden displaying a softer side gave her a warm feeling inside. Roshan was not only competent, and attractive, but was a nice person too. The kind of person who… Tara forced aside the thought that had popped into her mind and made herself think about Willow instead.

"Once we have seen to the horses," Roshan said, "perhaps you would teach me some of your fighting skills? There is time yet before the sun sets and this grass," she waved a hand in a gesture encompassing the glade, "will make for a soft landing if you knock me down."

"It's much more likely that you'll knock me down," Tara said. "I'm really not very good."

"You are too modest," Roshan said. She looked down at the ground and a pout came to her lips. "We must tether the horses at the edge of the clearing at first," she said, "or the landings could be too soft for comfort."

Tara frowned. "I… don't understand what you mean," she admitted. "Too soft for comfort?"

Roshan grinned. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I would prefer not to land in horse manure."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Tara clambered to her feet and brushed grass from her jeans. "You're learning fast," she said.

"The credit is yours," Roshan said. "You are a good teacher."

"Well, you know what they say," Tara said, shrugging. "Those who can, do; those who can't, teach."

"That does not make sense," Roshan said. "How could one teach something that one could not do?"

"Uh, they could know what has to be done but not have the co-ordination to actually do it," Tara said. "That's me, pretty much. But you've got any amount of co-ordination."

"I was a dancer before I took up the sword," Roshan said. "I have trained to be nimble since I was a child."

"You'll need to keep practicing those moves, now," Tara said. "They have to become part of your, uh, muscle memory. That's the part I could never manage."

"Yet you managed when it was needed," Roshan said. "Yes, I will practice. Also I see how some of those moves could be applied to fighting with a sword. Step, and turn, and guide the opponent's blade past my body instead of trying to pit my strength against that of a man twice my weight. And it will bring his flank into a position where it is perfectly placed for the thrust of a dagger in my left hand. I will try that out some other time, however, for it grows too dark for us to continue now. It is time to light the fire, and eat, and then to bed. In the morning we shall ride on. We should reach Khorshemish before dusk tomorrow, Ishtar willing, and then once again we can sleep in a proper bed."

And the elephant in the room was back, tossing its huge head and waving its trunk, and it was… pink. A great big gay elephant. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. Once they were back in a double bed, with only a bolster between… Xena Warrior Princess, with the Xena/Gabrielle subtext made explicitly text… and Tara, she'd have to deal once again with the temptation to throw the pillow out of the bed and… Tara resolutely sought for something else to keep her mind occupied.

Her gaze fell on the horses, her as-yet-nameless bay and Roshan's buckskin mare Forouzan, tethered at the far side of the clearing. They were standing close together, much closer than the length of the tethers made necessary, and as Tara watched she saw Forouzan lift her head and nuzzle at the other mare's neck. They certainly seemed to have become close friends… or, Tara found herself thinking, could horses be lesbians?

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"I've decided on a name for my horse," Tara said. "I'll call her 'Binky'." Breakfast had consisted of hard black bread, cheese, and an apple; she had eaten only half of the apple and now presented the remainder to the horse on the palm of her hand. The newly-christened Binky seized upon it with alacrity and munched contentedly.

Roshan tilted her head to one side, frowned slightly, and shifted her glance between Tara and the horse. "That is not a name I know," she said. "What does it mean?"

"It, uh, doesn't really mean anything," Tara answered, "or, if it does, I don't know the meaning. It's just a name. Sometimes children in my world call their favorite toy animal, or even a comfort blanket, 'Binky'."

Roshan's eyebrows rose. "It seems… undignified," she said. "She may not be trained for war, unlike my Forouzan, but she is no mere plaything."

"It's also the name of Death's horse in some of the tales of my world," Tara expanded.

"Oh?" Roshan's frown turned into a wide grin. "You have magical powers, and some skill in fighting, but you are a long way from being the incarnation of Death. Also, Tara, you are much too… nice."

"Uh, thanks," Tara said. "Actually the Death in those stories is… well, 'nice' isn't quite the right word, but he's not a bad guy. He just does his job as best he can. He… sort of likes people. Sometimes he tries to act like a person but doesn't quite get it right. He adopted a girl once, and she married his apprentice, and now he has a granddaughter called Susan. She sometimes does The Duty for him, when he's taking a vacation or standing in for the Hogfather or something, and, well, she's not all that much like me but at least she's a girl." Her mention of Susan Sto Helit sparked an idea, something that might be useful later, and she fell silent and examined the idea in detail.

Roshan spoke again but Tara, lost in thought, missed most of what she said and only vaguely gathered that Roshan was still criticizing the choice of name. "Uh, well, I tried to think of the names of famous horses from my world, like Seabiscuit, and Bucephalus, and, uh, Shadowfax, but the only ones that came to mind were all stallions," Tara said. "The original Binky is a stallion too, and he's white and my horse is a bay, but Binky sounds like a girly name and doesn't mean anything to do with color. And at least there won't be any other horses around these parts called Binky."

"I suppose not," Roshan conceded. "Very well, then, call her Binky if you must."

"I will," Tara said, and then moved on to the idea that had just struck her. "I've thought of a spell that could help us get to King Conan, maybe make it a little less dangerous, if you're still set on rescuing him."

"My intentions have not changed," Roshan said. "A spell? That is good to hear. Will you summon an elemental of the Earth to break open the walls of the dungeon?"

"Uh, nothing that powerful," Tara said. "I was thinking more of a spell that would make people take no notice of us." She saw Roshan's forehead creasing in apparent puzzlement and elaborated. "We could walk past the guards and they wouldn't, uh, challenge us or anything."

"Ah," said Roshan, breaking into a beaming smile. "That would be useful indeed. My thoughts had been of evading the guards, moving only when their patrols took them away from our path, but I feared that this might be impossible. My intent was to reconnoiter first and only go through with the rescue if I deemed that it was within our capabilities. I am not as rash as I may have seemed to you, Tara, and I would not press on if I judged that we would be doomed to failure."

"That's a relief," Tara said. "You had me kind of worried. I had pictured you trying to fight your way in, swinging on chandeliers and that sort of thing, and I didn't think it was going to work."

"No, I am not so foolhardy," Roshan said, with a grin. "I take risks, true, but only when I cannot find another way. It is my belief that the guard will be light, despite the value of the captive, with the army being away attacking Aquilonia. The lucky chance that sent us to the battle in time to witness Conan's capture means that we will be in Khorshemish long before they could expect any rescue. I think there may well be weaknesses we can exploit. Your spell will make that much easier. And I will be careful."

"Careful is good," said Tara. She pushed away the muzzle of the horse now known as Binky, who was nuzzling into her cleavage in a fruitless search for more apples, and began to saddle the horse ready for the next leg of their journey.

"Indeed so," Roshan agreed. "And, speaking of being careful, there is something of which I must warn you. Once we reach Khorshemish I advise you to leave the talking to me. Many of the citizens understand Aquilonian, it is true, but as an apparent native of a nation with which Koth is at war you'd be treated with suspicion. That wouldn't be a good idea in the circumstances."

"Probably not in any circumstances," Tara agreed. "I couldn't keep the notice-me-not spell going all the time and we could hardly rescue King Conan if we were arrested."

"Quite so," said Roshan. "Therefore we should try to blend in. I will buy clothes in the local style once we arrive." A smile bordering on a smirk flickered on her lips for a moment, an expression that Tara read as meaning 'I know something you don't', but it was quickly replaced by a sober frown. "With your coloring you could easily pass as a Brythunian," Roshan went on, "and Koth has no quarrel with Brythunia. Well, apart from them taking Brythunian girls as slaves, I suppose, but everybody does that."

"Slaves?" Tara froze rigid in the middle of removing Binky's saddle. "That's horrible!" The distraction caused her to lose her grip on the saddle and it almost landed on her foot.

Roshan shrugged. "To be a slave must be horrible, and I would not own slaves myself, but it is the way things are," she said.

"Then they shouldn't be," Tara said. She retrieved the saddle, set it on Binky's back, and began to fasten the girths.

"There are some countries in which there are no slaves, or very few," Roshan said, "such as my own land of Yarmouk, and in Nemedia there is a law that serfs who live within the city of Numalia for one year are set free. That does not, of course, apply to slaves taken as prisoners in war."

"There are no slaves where I come from," Tara said. "There used to be but a hundred and fifty years ago there was a great war to set them free. The anti-slavery side won."

"That will not happen here," Roshan said. "The rich need their slaves, for they will not do their own menial tasks, and they have the power."

"If they're rich they can pay their workers a wage," Tara said. "It works much better that way. Really. We found that out in my world. Slavery isn't just cruel, and degrading for both the slaves and their owners, it's inefficient too."

"It is not me you have to convince," Roshan said, "and speaking along those lines in public could be dangerous. They would say you were trying to incite a slave revolt and you would be killed. However speaking to King Conan, if we are successful in rescuing him, may well prove fruitful. I think he could be persuaded to introduce a law similar to the Nemedian one I mentioned, but more widely applicable, if you put your case well. There are fewer slaves in Aquilonia than in most other Western kingdoms and Conan has no love for slavery. He is a wild Cimmerian barbarian and his people value freedom highly."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tara said, and then something in Roshan's last words struck her and she froze in the middle of fastening Binky's girth straps. The implications of the king's name hadn't really registered on her before, as there were Conans in Irish mythology and of course there was the TV show host Conan O'Brien, but put it together with 'barbarian' and it rang an unmistakable bell. Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Did you just say he's _Conan the Barbarian_?"

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Willow sat at one of the tables in the Magic Box and glowered at the screen of her laptop. Anya, behind the counter, glowered at Willow. Xander avoided both their gazes and devoted his attention to an X-Men comic. Buffy chewed on her lower lip as she flipped through a reference tome. Dawn sat with her head lowered, motionless except when she turned pages, totally absorbed in her reading; Buffy had been suspicious at first, suspecting that Dawn had gotten hold of something like a demonic Kama Sutra, but a glance over Dawn's shoulder had revealed that the book was a manual of Brazilian Jiu-jitsu with scorch marks around the edges of the pages; Spike's, no doubt, retrieved from the wreckage of his crypt. It wasn't relevant to the matter at hand, and Buffy wasn't thrilled about her sister studying combat, but it was relatively harmless and at least it was keeping Dawn quiet and out of everyone else's hair.

"This is getting me nowhere," Willow complained. "I gave up on the demon books, and tried Googling the things the Keeper said to me, but all I found were things about Conan the Barbarian."

Xander laid his comic down and raised his eyes to Willow for the first time in an hour. "Uh, Will," he said, "why is that getting nowhere? Maybe it's the answer."

Willow clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "How could a stupid movie be the answer?"

"I don't mean the movie," Xander said. "Why can't Tara be in Hyboria?"

"Because it's not a real place," Willow replied, rolling her eyes.

"How do you know it's not real?" Xander asked. "The guy who wrote the original Conan stories said that he sometimes thought that he wasn't making it up. It was more like he was listening to this barbarian guy telling his life story and he was just writing it down. Suppose that's exactly what it was? Like, Robert E. Howard had a kind of mental link to the, uh, Hyborian dimension."

Willow's forehead creased deeply. "But the movies are just dumb," she protested. "There couldn't be such a place."

"The first movie's not that bad," Xander said, "but the books are much better. They make a lot more sense. Like, Conan was never a slave in the original stories. That would be dumb. How would he have picked up all those barbarian skills pushing a millstone around for years?"

"Books?" Anya enquired, scornful disbelief evident in her tone. "Are you claiming that you actually read books, Xander?"

"Well, yeah," Xander said. "I started with the comic books, of course. _The Savage Sword of Conan_. Writing by Roy Thomas, artwork by John Buscema and Alfredo Alcala, it was a total classic of the Bronze Age."

"Bronze Age?" Dawn set aside her martial arts book and stared at Xander. "They had comic books before twelve hundred BC? In, what, hieroglyphics and cuneiform?"

Now it was Xander's turn to roll his eyes. "The Bronze Age of _Comics_. From the Seventies until about eighty-six. From _Conan_ to _Watchmen_ and _The Dark Knight Returns_. Of course that was before my time, so I had to pick up second-hand copies, and I couldn't always get the ones I wanted. So I hunted out the book versions of _Conan_. And, hey, they were even better than the comic books. At least the ones actually written by Howard were. Some of the knock-offs were just total crap."

"Huh? So Conan the Barbarian is _real_?" Buffy said. "That's crazy talk."

"No, wait, Buffy, it makes sense," Willow said. "It could be in another dimension. The Keeper of Darkness said he was sending Tara to the Age of High Adventure and that's what the little wizard guy calls it in the voice-over at the beginning of the movie. And the Keeper said Olaf had prospered there and, hey, he'd fit right in with Conan."

"Yeah, with the quaffing ale by the barrel and the smiting people with hammers," Xander said. He glanced across the table to an empty chair and his forehead creased. "This is where Deadboy Junior would make with a smart-ass comment, if he was here," he remarked. "I hate the guy, yeah, but the place doesn't seem the same without him."

"It sure doesn't," said Dawn. "Why did he have to go to Africa anyway?"

"That's exactly what Giles wants to know," Buffy said, "although I've no clue why Giles thinks it's important."

"It's not important," Willow said sharply. "What matters is working out where Tara is and then finding out how to get her back." Her brow furrowed. "Hmm. If we have a location maybe Fred could help. I'll give her a call later."

"Fred?" Buffy queried.

"She works for Angel," Willow explained. "I met her when I went to tell Angel you were… dead. She knows about dimensional travel."

"That sounds cool," Xander said.

"It's not so cool when you get stuck in a demon dimension, and made into a slave, like Fred was," Willow said. "And I'm worried about something similar happening to Tara. It must be horrible for her in a dimension of muscle-bound barbarians swinging battle-axes."

"Yeah, Tara's not exactly Valeria, or Bêlit of the Black Coast," Xander agreed. "She'll be totally out of place."

"Goddess!" Willow exclaimed, sitting up very straight in her chair. "Tara might have to go around in a chain-mail bikini!"

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The women Tara had seen in Aquilonia had dressed in a vaguely medieval manner that wouldn't have been out of place at a Renaissance Fair or an event of the SCA. The basic layout was an ankle-length woolen dress or smock, drab for the poor and embroidered for the rich, sometimes with a secondary knee-length dress or tunic worn over the main one. She'd noticed a few women clad in a more comfortable and attractive style, a looser and more flowing gown of cotton or silk topped by an embroidered corset like the one Tara now wore, but those dresses were just as long as the woolen ones. Koth was another country and they did things differently there. Now Tara could see the reason for Roshan's smirk when she'd said that they'd have to dress like the locals while in Koth.

Kothian skirts must have been very easy to make. Start with a two-inch wide strip of cloth and make it into a belt. Take a dish-towel of matching material and stitch it, by the narrow side, to the front so that it hung down to just short of the knees. Stitch another dish-towel to the back. Voilà! A Kothian skirt. The wearer's legs were exposed almost all the way up to the hip-bone, the sides of her bum-cheeks showed, and when she walked she'd keep revealing glimpses of her inner thighs. There was an ankle-length variant – Tara deduced, from the quality of the cloth and the amount of jewelry visible on the wearers, that it was favored by the upper classes – but the two strips weren't any wider and still gave just as many flashes of thigh as the short version. The only underwear you could wear with such skirts, without it showing at the sides, would be something like a thong. Tara hoped that was what they wore but had a horrible feeling that they might be going Commando.

Above the waist things weren't much more modest; they wore just a single strip of cloth around the upper body, at breast level, fastened by a knot at the back to form a band resembling a strapless bra. Tara had seen pictures of somewhat similar garments in Roman mosaics but in Ancient Rome they hadn't been everyday outerwear. The cloth bands, which were fairly narrow, didn't seem to offer much in the way of support and not a great deal of concealment either. Obviously whoever had designed the national costume of Kothian women had started with a mission statement of 'Let's see how much skin we can put on display'.

It wasn't only teenage girls and young women who wore such skimpy outfits; mothers with children, old ladies, and little girls all dressed in more or less the same style. Some of the older women, and those with large busts, wore a broader breast-band as a minor concession to practicality over fashion; conversely a few of the prettier girls had tied their cloths in a second knot between the breasts, or passed the cloth through a metal ring at that point, to give extra emphasis and a touch of cleavage. All the women had bare midriffs and in several of the exposed navels Tara saw the glint of jewels.

It was warmer here than it had been a couple of hundred miles north in Aquilonia, approximately equivalent to late summer in California, but the difference in the climate wasn't significant enough to fully explain the difference in the style of dress. It had to be cultural.

And, of course, the scanty clothing was exclusively for the women. The city guards were clad in thigh-length hauberks of leather covered with overlapping steel scales, with cloaks hanging from their shoulders, and most of the civilian men wore baggy hip-length tunics over tight hose; very little male skin was on view. Not that Tara had any aesthetic objections, as she'd rather look at women than men any day, but it did seem very sexist and unfair.

"It's easier to buy clothes here than in Aquilonia," Roshan said, the smirk reappearing on her face, "as they're a lot… simpler. We wear much the same styles back home in Yarmouk and I already own suitable outfits. I didn't change into one before we arrived because breeches are more comfortable for riding."

'And because you wanted to surprise me,' Tara thought, but all she said aloud was "It's a shame your clothes wouldn't fit me. That would have been even easier."

"I don't think we're much different in build," Roshan said, "but I'm taller by perhaps three or four inches."

"And I'm bigger in the, uh, bust, although that probably wouldn't make much difference, thinking about it, the way those clothes seem to work," Tara said. "I could do with more clothes anyway, I guess, so we'd better buy some."

Roshan nodded. "Indeed so. First we shall stable the horses and then find a clothing vendor. After that we shall go to the public baths, which I think will still be open, and we can change our clothes there before seeking out an inn."

A bath sounded heavenly, although the 'public' aspect of it was slightly disconcerting, but Tara didn't voice her qualms. She kept silent while Roshan was dealing with business at the stable, as Roshan had advised her, but the rationale behind that advice turned out to be erroneous. Once they had left, and were walking toward a shop Roshan knew, Tara raised the matter.

"Roshan," she said, "you told me I wouldn't be able to understand the language here. Well, I do. I'm hearing it as another of the languages of my world, one I learned at college, and I understood every word. And I can read the writing on the signs."

"You speak Kothian?" Roshan queried, in that language.

"I do," Tara confirmed, also switching languages. To her ear they were now speaking Italian, which she'd done as part of a Language minor, and the magic seemed to have upgraded Tara's fairly basic grasp of the language into total fluency. "I'd call it something else, back home, but I guess it's Kothian here."

"That will make things much easier," Roshan said. "I wonder… do you speak any other of our tongues?"

Tara thought for a moment. "Probably," she said, "if the magic has worked the way I think it must have done. Let's see." She switched to French, which she had spoken rather better than Italian back in California, and tried a couple of phrases.

"Ophirean," Roshan said. "I speak that too and it may well be very useful. I wonder…" She spoke a few words that were totally incomprehensible to Tara.

"Sorry, I didn't get that at all," Tara said.

"That is a shame," Roshan said. "I spoke in Shemitish, the other tongue of Yarmouk and the one I speak with my family, and it would have been pleasing if you had understood. Is that all of your languages?"

Tara tried Spanish, in which she had been quite fluent, next.

"Zingaran," Roshan declared, "and I would say that you speak it better than I do. Any others?"

"One more," Tara said, and quoted from a song lyric in Scots Gaelic.

Roshan frowned. "That is not a language I speak," she said, "but I think I recognize the sounds as being Brythunian. If I am right then the impersonation I have suggested will be even more convincing."

"That could be kind of useful," Tara said. "Uh, what's Brythunia like?"

"It is a country of farmers and hunters," Roshan answered. "The men are dour and stupid, it is said, but the women are beautiful and spirited. They do not follow Ishtar or Mitra there but, instead, worship the nature goddess Wiccana."

Tara's eyes widened. "So do I," she said. "That's… neat. And what do Brythunian women do when they're out of their own country? Besides being slaves, that is?"

"Mostly they work as weavers, for their skill at that art is widely famed," Roshan replied.

Tara smiled. "That's good," she said. "I can use a hand loom. I wouldn't say I'm exactly skilled, it's something we only do as a pastime in my world these days and I'm way out of practice, but I could talk the talk. Right, as far as the people here are concerned, I'm a Brythunian weaver."

"Indeed so," Roshan said. "Tara even sounds, at least to my ear, like a Brythunian name. This is an auspicious start to our stay." They had reached the shop, or rather market stall, by this time but Roshan paused before approaching the merchant. "I had planned to teach you one phrase of Kothian, which could well have proved useful in this city," she said, "but it seems that now it will be unnecessary."

"Oh? What was that phrase?" Tara asked.

Roshan grinned widely. "It was 'Please take your hand off my knee, I prefer females'."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The public baths were segregated and there was no question of Tara having to use that deterrent request. At least not with that specific wording; Tara was the object of attentions from a curvaceous Kothian woman of early middle age, apparently a lesbian cougar, almost to the extent of having to use 'Please take your hand off my knee, I prefer males' to discourage her. Eventually Tara's lack of response, together with a series of glowers from Roshan fierce enough to have intimidated the other kind of cougar, caused the woman to give up and go away.

"I don't get it," Tara remarked, once she and Roshan had left the bath and were drying themselves in private. "Why was she trying for me? I mean, I didn't think it was so very obvious that I… like women. And, well, you're a lot, uh, more attractive than I am."

"You underestimate yourself, Tara," Roshan said. "You are beautiful and, in this land of dark-haired people, your fair hair is an exotic novelty. I expected that you would be the object of male attention. That you caught the eye of a woman is not really more surprising. In this country they are more open-minded about such things. They do not believe that to be attracted to members of your own sex automatically makes you a witch."

Tara found herself wondering if Roshan had, on her previous visits to Khorshemish, ever shared a bed with any of the local girls. She put the thought aside; it was none of her business. It wasn't even as if they were dating. They'd just been thrown together by circumstances and found that they liked each other. As friends, platonic friends, that's all. And maybe if she told herself that enough times she'd actually believe it.

She finished drying herself and examined the clothes Roshan had bought for her. There were undergarments, after all; abbreviated panties that did indeed closely resemble a modern thong but, as elastic was unknown in this world, they fastened with laces. Tara knew a bit about the history of clothing and the thong seemed rather anachronistic. She guessed that the Kothian costume had evolved from something like an Apache breechclout, a single strip of cloth looped twice through a belt, a system that formed its own built-in loincloth-style underwear. Over time this had been slimmed down in the crotch area, for comfort and ease of movement, and then it had occurred to someone that the center piece needed washing more often than the front and back sections. Making the middle into a separate garment would have been a logical development.

Now that Tara wasn't faced with the prospect of having to go Commando, or to wear her slightly grubby panties and have the sides of them visible between the front and back skirt strips, she felt a little better about wearing a costume that would make her look like a cross between a harem girl and a Sunset Boulevard hooker. And at least everyone else would be wearing pretty much the same thing.

As was Roshan, now, as she had dressed while Tara had been scrutinizing her new clothes and theorizing about their evolution. Roshan's Kothian outfit, green with an embroidered decorative pattern in red, suited her very well. She, as Tara might have expected, followed the practice of threading her breast-band through a copper ring at the center to make her bust more prominent. The outline of her nipples was clearly visible through the fabric.

Naked, Roshan had looked altogether too good for Tara's peace of mind; dressed in Kothian style she still looked good, but now Tara could look at her without feeling pangs of guilt and disloyalty. Although why should she have those feelings anyway? Willow was thousands of miles and thousands of years away, they might never see each other again, and Roshan was right here. Maybe…

"Do you need any help with your clothes?" Roshan asked.

Tara realized that she was staring at Roshan, blinked, and looked away. "No, I can manage," she said. "I was just thinking about… things." She began to dress; the simple and scanty nature of the attire meant that it wasn't exactly a laborious task. After donning thong and skirt she paused before putting on the top. Should she wear her bra under it? The bra, like the panties she'd been wearing, was a little grubby after continuous wear and being washed only in a stream without soap. She decided against wearing the bra, wrapped the strip of cloth around herself, and began to tie the ends together at the front.

"I too have been thinking," Roshan said. "I have learned much that may prove useful."

Tara raised her eyebrows. "In the bath?" She rotated the cloth band until the knot was at the back, checked how it felt, and then turned it around again and re-tied it slightly tighter.

"While you were occupied in fending off the attentions of that… lecherous woman," Roshan explained, "I was listening to the gossip. I heard that King Conan was brought into the city at noon today, in chains, and paraded through the streets."

"A triumph," said Tara.

"Indeed so, for the glory of King Strabonus," Roshan said, "and his treacherous ally Amalrus of Ophir. And, above all, for the glory of the wizard Tsotha-lanti, who is the puppet-master pulling their strings."

"The power behind the throne, we call it," Tara said.

"A good name," Roshan said, nodding her head. "They are staying only one night in the city, I gather, and on the morrow they will set off to rejoin their army for the conquest of southern Aquilonia. And that," she said, a gleeful smile coming to her lips, "will give us our chance to rescue Conan."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"And so we have to rescue Angel. Uh, and Cordelia too, I guess." Willow completed her account of her telephone conversation with Fred in Los Angeles, folded her arms, and stared at the other Scoobies.

"Well, I'm all in favor of rescuing Angel," Buffy said, "but I don't see what we can do that the guys in LA can't. It's their turf, they know the ground and have all the contacts, and if they can't find him I don't know that we'll be able to do any better."

"Are you sure this guy Fred can bring Tara back?" Xander asked. He didn't openly say 'Well, I'm not in favor of rescuing Angel' but his expression said it for him. Buffy gave him a medium-intensity Death Glare and then turned back to Willow.

"Fred's a girl, Xander," Willow said. "I told you about her, remember? Winifred Burkle. She's a genius scientist. She was trapped in another dimension for years, until Angel rescued her, and she's been studying dimensional travel since she got back. She's the closest thing to an expert we're going to find. Only she's all tied up in searching for Angel." She heaved a sigh. "Why is everything so complicated? I just want Tara back but it's like we have to keep jumping through hoops first. Giles was supposed to be helping me but he's gone jetting off to Uganda instead. Fred says she can't help me until we get Angel back."

"We'll help you all we can," Xander said, "except for the part where we don't have a clue what else we can do."

"You worked out that Tara is in the Age of Conan," Willow said, "and that was a big help. But, yeah, I don't think there's much you can do for the next step."

"About the only thing I can think of, when it comes to finding Angel, is to beat up demons and ask them questions," Buffy said, "so that's what I'll do. If Spike was here maybe he would have a way of tracking Angel down… but he isn't. Giles might bring him back from Africa, I guess, but not any time soon. A few days at least."

"I'll see what I can find out," Anya said. "I have a few contacts through the magic trade. I can't ask D'Hoffryn for any help, though, not unless it's part of a vengeance wish. I don't suppose any of you…?" She was met with silence. "No, I didn't think so."

"It's all taking way too much time," Willow moaned. "And Tara's stuck in that awful age of barbarians! She must be suffering dreadfully."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Twinges of pain flickered in Tara's legs as her muscles, still somewhat strained by unaccustomed horseback riding, protested against the stretching. Then, as Roshan rolled her hips and ground her clit against Tara's, she forgot all about the pain. There wasn't anything in her whole world other than sheer, sensual, pleasure.

When Tara had made the decision to do without the separating pillow down the middle of the bed she'd known she was giving Roshan the go-ahead to make sexual advances. She just hadn't guessed how effective those advances would be. Tara definitely had wanted kisses and cuddles, and was quite prepared to go further if the initial stages went well, but she hadn't expected to get what she could only describe as the fucking of her life.

The kissing and embracing had soon become passionate. Roshan had worked her way down Tara's body and between her legs. Her lips and tongue had melted any resistance Tara might have been inclined to offer and then she'd demonstrated something Tara had never even imagined; using the bridge of her nose against Tara's clit. Nasal sex? It was strange but oh so good. Then they had swapped around and Tara reciprocated with a technique of long, slow, licks that had Roshan squirming in her turn.

Now Tara lay flat on her back, her left leg up against Roshan's shoulder and her right stretched out wide, with Roshan between them giving a master-class in the use of the Dominant Scissors position. It was all Tara could do, as their pussy lips slid against each other, to keep from dissolving into a helpless puddle of ecstatic goo and retain enough control to reach up to Roshan's breasts and reciprocate her caresses.

Roshan accelerated her pace, rolling and thrusting her hips faster and faster, and Tara found herself being swept away on the tide of her approaching orgasm. She matched Roshan's rhythm, out of sheer instinct than conscious intention, and stretched out her hand to touch their clits with the tips of her fingers. That additional pressure tipped them both over the edge. Roshan threw her head back, cried out Tara's name, and then dropped forward to lie atop Tara. They sought out each other's lips and kissed deeply, tongues twining together, as they shuddered and jerked in ecstatic release.

And then it was over, and they lay together in a tangle of legs and arms, twitching with occasional post-orgasmic after-shocks, exchanging slow languorous kisses as they gradually slipped into blissful sleep. Maybe in the morning there might be guilt but, right now, there was only contentment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Seventy-six trombones led the big parade. Well, not literally, but the thirty liveried musicians, blowing fanfares from long brass horns, came as close to fitting the song as could reasonably be expected. Immediately behind them rode another musician, this one bearing a massive white horn that appeared to be made from the tusk of an elephant, but he merely rested the instrument across his saddle and made no move to play it.

Following the silent horn-bearer there came the two kings and their _éminence grise_. Amalrus of Ophir, tall and slim, clad in gilded mail and riding a palomino stallion; Strabonus of Koth, shorter but broader of build, in jet-black plate armor and on an equally black horse; and the wizard Tsotha-lanti in a chariot.

Tara studied all three men intently. There was no danger of her scrutiny drawing attention; the whole point of the grand exit was so that all of the townspeople could watch and cheer for their king. The cheering seemed to be pretty desultory, and the crowd wasn't all that big, but then there'd been another parade the previous day and maybe they were all cheered out. One man, a big muscular guy who was obviously some kind of warrior, was cheering like he really meant it and was pumping his fist in the air enthusiastically. Tara glanced briefly in his direction, the man's exuberance drawing her attention, but then turned back to the parade.

She didn't learn much from looking at the two kings. They were, she guessed, simply wealthy and powerful men who were greedy for yet more wealth and power. Or they feared losing what they already had; from their perspective finding out that the military super-power next door was now ruled by a 'savage barbarian' couldn't have been good news. Not that a pre-emptive strike, set up through treachery, was the best way of dealing with it but Tara could at least see their point of view.

The wizard was… something else. He rode standing up in a two-wheeled chariot, which seemed anachronistic to Tara considering the medieval-style knights in plate armor, but then this wasn't the Earth with which she was familiar. Anyway, Tsotha-lanti was in plain view and Tara could study him in detail. His head was totally bald, he didn't have visible eyebrows, and Tara didn't think he even had eyelashes. She'd be prepared to bet that he had no body hair whatsoever although, thankfully, his silk robes made confirmation of that guess impossible. His teeth, briefly visible as he gave a command to his charioteer, seemed to be pointed. She picked up vibes from him that, back in Sunnydale, she would have interpreted as 'demon'. And not a harmless one like Clem; the pointed teeth were the only similarity. This guy was Bad with a capital B.

And then his chariot had passed by and was replaced by ranks of mounted knights. Tara watched them with only mild interest. They didn't look much different from the way knights looked in old movies on TV. She was reminded of the Knights of Byzantium. She hadn't been in her right mind at the time of the confrontation with the Knights, of course, but what she remembered of them matched these guys, to a large extent, except that she didn't remember the Key-obsessed versions being as heavily armored as those in the army of Koth.

Roshan was paying more attention; in fact she seemed to be counting the knights, Tara thought, although she was trying to be unobtrusive about it. Tara couldn't think why; yes, the information might be valuable military intelligence to the Aquilonians, but Roshan would have no opportunity to pass that information on. Roshan had described herself to Tara, at their first meeting, as a 'scout' but Tara guessed that what she had really meant was 'spy'. Perhaps the information-gathering was simply habit? This wasn't the time or place to question Roshan about it.

And then the parade had passed, moving on out through the city gates, and the crowd began to thin.

"Approximately seven hundred and fifty," Roshan said, keeping her voice low. "The King's Guard numbers one thousand, at full strength, but they took casualties at the plain of Shamu. The missing two hundred and fifty will be the injured and the dead. That means the whole regiment has gone; only the normal guard will be present in the royal castle."

Ah. That explained Roshan's counting. Tara restricted herself to replying with a simple "I see."

"Let us move on," Roshan continued. "A meal, I think, and then we might go and take a look at the castle."

As they began to walk away they were approached by the big man who had been applauding the kings more enthusiastically than anyone else. Three smaller men trailed behind him, leather-clad thugs with long knives at their belts, their manner distinctly reminiscent of jackals following a lion. The leader was over six feet tall, broad in the shoulder, with a thick waist and legs like tree-trunks. His head was shaven and his upper lip was adorned with a mustache that wouldn't have looked out of place on a walrus. Instead of tusks, however, he was armed with a large scimitar belted high at his left hip. A hauberk of steel rings sewn onto leather, worn over a wide-sleeved white shirt, protected his barrel of a chest and his bulging stomach.

"Greetings, fair maidens," he hailed them, gazing at Tara and Roshan with an expression on his face that, like his mustache, wouldn't have been out of place on a walrus; a bull walrus in the mating season. "It is a glorious day, is it not? A time to celebrate. Come, maidens, and drink a cup of wine with me."

"I think not," Roshan replied. "It is not our custom to drink with strangers."

"Then let us not be strangers," the man replied. "I am Olgerd Vladislav, a captain of mercenaries, and these are my men. And you are…?"

"I am Roshan, daughter of Vahauka, of Yarmouk," Roshan answered, "and this is Tara MacLay of Brythunia. I thank you for your invitation but we must be going."

"Nay, fair maiden, tarry awhile," said Olgerd. "This is a great occasion and should be celebrated in suitable style. Nothing could be more suitable than to share a cup of wine with a pair of exceedingly comely wenches."

"Thank you for the compliment, but I cannot accept your invitation," Roshan replied. "Tell me, though, why is it such an occasion for celebration?"

"My enemy has been taken captive," Olgerd gloated. "Conan the Cimmerian, the savage brute who stole my men out from under me and then cast me out into the desert with a broken arm, will at last pay for his misdeeds. I admit I would rather King Strabonus had sent him to the executioner's block on the spot, rather than delaying, but my heart still rejoices to know that Conan languishes in the dungeons. No doubt Strabonus will execute him once the conquest of Aquilonia is complete."

"No doubt," Roshan agreed in a flat voice almost devoid of inflexion. "It will be a public spectacle, I am sure, and so you will be able to witness your enemy's demise. May you have joy of it. Farewell."

"Wait," the mercenary called. "Will you not reconsider? I can be… generous with my coin."

"We have pressing business elsewhere. I bid you farewell," Roshan said, and turned to walk off.

"What of you, Brythunian?" asked Olgerd. "Will you drink with me?"

Tara repressed a shudder. Even if she had been straight she wouldn't have been in the least tempted. The mercenary's black mustache was streaked with grey; he was probably at least as old as Giles and not wearing anything like as well. His leering gaze, focused on her scantily-clad body, made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. "I must decline," she said, trying as best she could to emulate the speech patterns of the locals. "Farewell, sir mercenary."

"The loss is yours, Brythunian," said Olgerd, turning his head to watch Roshan's rear as she began to walk away, and then he spoke again in a sharper tone. "You wear a sword, girl. That is a most uncommon accoutrement for a maid in these lands."

Roshan turned back to face him. "It is for protection in case of attack by brigands in the wilds. We cannot afford to hire an escort when we travel."

"Oh? And can you use it?" There was amusement, perhaps mockery, in the big man's tone.

"Well enough," Roshan said, "but only at need. I do not brawl in the streets. Come, Tara."

This time Olgerd allowed them to depart with no further words. Tara was sure, however, than he was watching them every step of the way and she felt her skin crawl at the thought of his lustful gaze. She didn't look back until after they had turned a corner.

"I didn't like that man," Tara remarked.

"Your judgment is sound," Roshan said. "It would not be good if he, and his jackals, came upon us in a place where there were no citizens around to see."

Tara smiled slightly as she heard Roshan describe Olgerd's retinue as jackals, exactly as Tara had done in her thoughts, although of course Roshan had never seen jackals on the Discovery Channel. "I think you're right," Tara said. She remembered reading a Science Fiction novel recently, Eric Flint's '1632', in which European mercenaries in the Thirty Years' War had featured. Assuming the portrayal was accurate, and that mercenaries in this age were similar, they would be about the worst possible people two young women alone could encounter. "Mercenaries in my world could be very bad people."

Roshan shook her head. "He is no mercenary," she said. "I know of him by repute. Olgerd Vladislav is a brigand chieftain. A hetman of the Zaporoskan Kozaki, at one time, and then he led a band of Zuagir raiders until he crossed paths with Conan – to his sorrow. A meeting he has not forgotten." She glanced around, checking that there were no bystanders within hearing range, and then continued. "If we can free Conan we must then smuggle him out of the city. I had thought that a change of clothing, and a hauberk and coif acquired from the castle's stores, would be an adequate disguise. Few in this city can have seen him close up, only from afar during Strabonus' triumphal procession, and if no general hue and cry was raised he could pass as our hired bodyguard. Olgerd poses a danger to that plan, for he would surely recognize Conan, and so we must take care to avoid him."

"I'm all in favor of that," Tara agreed, "but we don't know where he'll be to avoid."

"You think I should have accepted his invitation, then?" Roshan asked, her eyebrows climbing.

Tara shuddered. "Definitely not. We'll just have to keep our eyes open."

"Perhaps this was a fortuitous meeting, after all," Roshan mused, "for had he not introduced himself I would not have known him. When Conan told the story of his time with the Zuagir he described Olgerd as lean and hard, with a short black beard, and that portrayal does not tally with the man we just met. The years since, some twenty years if I recall the tale correctly, have changed him much."

Tara remembered something Roshan had said earlier. "I thought you said you didn't know Conan, only some people he knows?"

"I was a new initiate at the temple, thirteen years old, sitting in a corner as Conan told his tales to the High Priestess and some of the senior acolytes," Roshan explained. "I remember him well but I would be surprised if he remembered me. I, too, have been changed by the years."

"It happens," Tara agreed, "although you've probably changed for the better and that Olgerd man… hasn't." 'Time changes everyone', she thought, and then 'unless you're a vampire'.

Her thoughts strayed off on a tangent and she wondered how things were going for Spike. Was his relationship with Buffy, which hadn't seemed to be doing either of them any good, still continuing? Tara had been concentrating almost exclusively on Willow, during her last night at Revello Drive before being transported to this world, but she had picked up an impression that Spike and Buffy had had a quarrel rather more serious than their usual fights. She wished Spike well, especially since the unarmed combat training he had given her had proved so useful, and she hoped nothing too catastrophic had happened. Idly she wondered what Spike was doing now – or, to be more accurate, what he was doing thousands of years in the future in an alternate world.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

In daylight the enormous cone of Mount Muhavura would have dominated the skyline. By night it was just an ominous black shadow, visible mainly as the absence of stars in that quadrant of the sky, but Spike couldn't stop himself from staring at it; even when he heard the sound of footsteps, the heavy-shod footsteps of a white man, approaching.

"Spike," said a familiar voice. "You total and absolute pillock. What the hell have you done?"

"Come to stake me, then, Rupert?" Spike asked, without turning round. "You've every right. Go ahead."

Giles clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I must confess that I would dearly like to do so but, by now, it would be pointless. If, that is, I am correct about the idiotic action that you have performed. Why the hell did you do it?"

Spike turned his head sharply. "You know? How?"

"It's a bloody prophecy," Giles replied. "Isn't it always? I stumbled on it by accident when I was looking for… something else. I took the next flight to Uganda, hoping I would get here in time to stop you, but it would seem that I'm too late."

"You wanted to _stop_ me from getting my soul back?" Spike's eyes widened. "Would have thought you'd have stood up and bloody cheered – or staked me, when you found out why."

"The thought did cross my mind," said Giles, "but, as I said, it would be pointless now, and I suppose your intentions were good. Of course you know what they say about good intentions…"

Spike's forehead creased deeply. "Seemed simple enough to me. Hurt the girl, had to make it right, fix it so I couldn't hurt her again. She was always going on at me about me being a soulless monster…"

"And you thought that, if you had a soul, she'd take you back." Giles sat down on the black volcanic soil beside Spike. "I rather doubt that will happen."

"Realize that now," Spike said. "Didn't understand just how wrong it was. Things are clearer now."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your new moral sensibilities and clarity of thought," Giles said, "for all of the two months they're going to last."

"What do you mean?" Spike asked, a touch of indignation creeping into his tone. "This is permanent. Got a proper job done, went through the Trials, and had it put in by the demon-god of the Batwa people. Not a gypsy botch-up like Angel's."

"I'm sure it will be a great comfort to us all, as we wait for the end, to know that you went out of your way to obtain the finest possible workmanship," Giles said.

"What do you mean, 'wait for the end'?"

"I mean, you steaming great idiot," said Giles, "that you have lit the fuse to the Apocalypse. Your getting your soul has triggered something that will, very probably, kill all of us."

Spike stared at Giles, his mouth hanging open, too surprised even to speak for a long moment. Eventually he managed to close his mouth, he swallowed, and then he spoke. "Kill us all? What are you talking about?"

"It's a prophecy," Giles said, and he sat down on the ground beside Spike, "as usual. I stumbled upon it while I was looking for information on the Land of the Trolls. A complete red herring, as it turned out, as that's not where Tara has gone after all, but it may have been a fortuitous error. I found a prophecy in the writings of the twelfth-century Icelandic visionary Bödvarr the One-Eyed. It's been lying in the Watchers' Council archives for decades, almost forgotten, regarded as meaningless – even though Bödvarr successfully predicted the Thirty Years' War, the American Revolution, the rise and fall of Napoleon and of Hitler, and Abba's victory in the Eurovision Song Contest."

Spike shook his head. "You'll have to put it in simple terms, mate. 'M still a bit knackered from the Trials and not firing on all cylinders. Tell me what the prophecy says – in plain English, not bloody Old Norse blank verse."

"The Slayer line was split when Willow resurrected Buffy," Giles said. "When either one of the two Slayers dies another Slayer will be called. That's disrupted the balance between Good and Evil. Two Souled Vampires makes it even worse. You've thrown the balance totally and utterly out of whack and shattered some of the mystical wards that the Powers put in place to protect Earth. If there are still two Slayers on Midsummer's Eve then the First Evil will arise, destroy or corrupt the Slayer line, and then lead an invincible army of demons to conquer the world."

"Oh, shit," Spike groaned. "Looks like we're buggered."

"Indeed so," Giles confirmed. "However it is possible that the situation might not be as dire as it appears. Angel has disappeared. If he was, in fact, dead before you regained your soul then there were not two Souled Vampires after all and the First Evil will not be able to enter the world."

"Doubt if we're that lucky," Spike muttered. "He'll just have buggered off to some monastery or something, like he did last year, to brood and comb his Nancy-boy gelled hair."

Giles raised his eyebrows. "The words 'pot', 'kettle', and 'black' come to mind," he remarked. "Be that as it may, however, we have to find him. Not only will that confirm, one way or another, whether or not the Prophecy of the Four has been fulfilled but it will free up Angel's associates to assist us in recovering our own missing person. Tara."

"What, the good witch is missing?"

"Indeed so. She has, apparently, been transported to an alternate dimension."

"Red fucked up another one of her spells, then?" Spike deduced.

"Not exactly," Giles said. "I gather it was the only way Willow could prevent Tara from dying. However we are wasting time. I'll explain further on the way back to Entebbe." He stood up. "On your feet, Spike, we have a long journey ahead of us."

Spike rose, dropped his cigarette butt, and stamped on it. "Probably be simpler if you just staked me," he suggested.

"As I said, it would be pointless," Giles said. "I would interpret the prophecy as meaning that your action in getting back your soul was equivalent to starting the count-down to Apocalypse but it's the presence of two Slayers that is the actual, ah, bomb. Staking you wouldn't prevent the rise of the First Evil and, for all your faults, you are rather good at fighting demons. If the worst comes to the worst we will need your help in opposing the demon invasion. First, though, we need to find Angel. Some of the more, ah, lurid treatises on vampires claim that there is a mystical link between a vampire and his Sire. Can you use anything like that to track him down?"

"That's a load of bollocks," Spike replied. "Bloody Anne Rice and Vampire: the Masquerade and all that crap. Anyway, Drusilla's my Sire. Just called Angel 'Sire' as a sort of honorary title. Called him my Yoda, too, but that doesn't mean he can use a light-saber. Might be able to smell him out, if I can get close enough, but that's about it."

"I thought as much," Giles said. "We will, then, have to do this the hard way. Old-fashioned legwork."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Roshan re-locked the door leading to the cells, extracted the keys, and replaced them on their hook on the wall. She walked past the oblivious jailors, who were concentrating on a dice game, and shook her head. "Conan is not there," she informed Tara.

Tara waited until they had left the room before replying; the 'notice-me-not' spell was working perfectly, and everyone they passed was ignoring them, but she didn't see any point in pushing its limits. "So where could he be?" she wondered, once they were away from the castle's staff. "Do you think he's been, uh, executed?"

Roshan shook her head again. "An execution would have been a public spectacle," she said. "To kill him in secret would be pointless. If they conquer Aquilonia, and put a puppet ruler on the throne, the populace could rise in favor of Conan if they think he still lives. No-one would revolt to restore a dead ruler. Conan lives still, that is certain, and so must be imprisoned somewhere else."

"But where?" Tara asked. "Uh, maybe they have him up in the king's rooms?"

"No, he will be in the wizard's catacombs," Roshan said, "guarded by monsters and demons."

Tara gulped. She wasn't one hundred per cent sure that the notice-me-not spell would be effective against magical creatures. However she wasn't going to leave someone who was a genuine hero, according to Roshan, stranded in a monster-haunted dungeon. She summoned up her resolve. "I guess w-we'd better go down there, then," she said. "Uh, I thought wizards lived in towers."

"Most do, I think," Roshan said, "but Tsotha-lanti helped King Akkutho the First to build this citadel and he dwells within it. His chambers will be high up, near the king's, but he will have a lair down below for the summoning of monsters and the practice of alchemy. We just have to find it."

"You'd know more about that than me," Tara said. "I'm not used to castles."

Roshan nodded. "I have been in several," she agreed, "and all are similar in most ways, but none I have been in before have had a resident wizard. Let me think. Ah. If I were the wizard I would want a direct route from my room to my lair. Let us, then, seek out the wizard's chamber as a starting point."

"That seems logical," Tara agreed. She followed Roshan through the castle, up the stairs, and into the corridors of the area containing the living quarters of the citadel's most important residents. They searched the rooms, one by one, working their way along the main corridor. Twice servants walked right past them without taking any notice.

Most of the rooms were empty but a few were occupied. In one a pair of beautiful women, naked, writhed together on a large bed covered by silken sheets. Tara blushed and backed away hastily. Roshan, however, stood and watched.

"King Strabonus' concubines, I presume," Roshan remarked. "I wonder if they really prefer women or if they just don't get enough attention from their Lord to keep them satisfied?" She watched them for a moment longer, a smile on her face, and she slipped her right hand under the front section of her skirt. "One of each, I think, judging by their technique," she declared, as an ivory dildo was put to energetic use.

"Come away!" Tara hissed through clenched teeth, her face flaming crimson. "We don't have time for you to stand here being a voyeur."

"I suppose not," Roshan conceded. "Oh, well, the sooner we rescue Conan, the sooner we can get back to the inn and have fun of our own." She drew her hand out from under her skirt and left the room.

And in the next room Roshan scandalized Tara again. There was a small wooden chest in the room, made of a heavy dark wood reinforced with bands of brass, and fastened to the wall by a thick iron chain. As soon as Roshan's gaze fell on it her eyes lit up and she made a beeline for the chest.

"I thought we were looking for Conan the Barbarian," Tara said, a touch of acid in her voice. "I doubt if he's in a little wooden box."

"This is the Chamberlain's room, Tara," Roshan said, not sounding even the slightest bit guilty or embarrassed. "Most of the king's money will be in the treasury vault but the coin for small expenses will be in here."

"The petty cash box," Tara said.

"Indeed so," Roshan agreed, "but the coin to buy the small things for a castle full of people will be enough to keep the two of us in comfort for months."

"We didn't come here to steal," Tara reminded her. "It's… wrong, and it's wasting time."

Roshan shrugged. "There is nothing wrong with stealing from the enemy," she said, "and if you argue then it is you who wastes time." She unclipped a small case from the side of her sword's scabbard and opened it. "It will take only a moment to open the chest."

Tara watched, frowning, as Roshan probed the lock with a piece of bent wire and then extracted a bronze skeleton key from the little case. She turned the key in the lock but then stepped back, drew her sword, and used the blade to flip open the chest's lid. A metallic 'twang' sounded and a blade shot out of the lid right where it would have been grasped by incautious fingers.

"I thought it opened too easily," Roshan remarked. "The proper key would have disarmed the trap. The unwary would have been pierced by what is undoubtedly an envenomed blade. Luckily I was taught by a Zamoran thief and knew what might lie in wait. And now to reap the reward." She helped herself to several small sacks of coin from within the chest but, rather to Tara's surprise, left some behind. "This is as much as we can conveniently carry," Roshan explained, answering Tara's unspoken question. "I will not allow greed to overcome common sense." She passed one sack to Tara, who accepted it reluctantly, and stashed away the others about her person. Roshan then locked the chest, including resetting the trap, and at last left the room.

Tara fumbled with the coin sack, trying to find somewhere she could put it where it would be out of plain sight yet not thump her in some intimate part every time she moved, but it took her a long time before she found a suitable position. If only, she thought, this world had invented pockets! Or sensible bags with shoulder-straps… She went out into the corridor, still fidgeting with the coin bag, and followed Roshan into the next room.

It was the chamber of King Strabonus. That was glaringly obvious from the royal emblems emblazoned on almost every flat surface. "Well," Tara said, looking around with her eyes wide, "if he ever gets so drunk that he wakes up not knowing who he is, he'll soon be reminded."

Roshan laughed. "Indeed he is fond of wine, or so I have heard, and perhaps that is the reason for this decoration. Although I think it will date from well before he became king." She glanced around the room. "Conan is obviously not here, and neither is the passage to the wizard's dungeons, and the valuable items would be far too recognizable to be saleable," she said. "We should move on."

In the next room along the corridor they saw an attractive woman, probably in her early thirties, working on a piece of embroidery. Her expression was one of extreme boredom and it made Tara think about the lack of opportunities for women, and the limited number of means of entertainment available, in this world. The peasantry would be kept occupied by hard labor, and what little free time they had could be filled by drinking and a few songs, but the nobility were probably bored out of their minds much of the time. Perhaps that boredom, rather than lust or love, was the reason why the two women they had passed earlier were going at it like gay bunnies. At least life with Roshan was unlikely to be boring… and, she had to admit, would probably include lots of doing it 'like they do on the Discovery Channel', even if there was no Discovery Channel to watch and it could well be centuries before anyone in this world ever saw a koala…

There was nothing of interest in the next room they came to, and the door after that was bolted from the inside and they passed it by, but the one after that was… spectacular.

The floor was made of some metallic stone that shone like silver, the walls were covered in mosaic tiles of a rich lustrous blue that had to be lapis lazuli, and the ceiling was a gilded dome. The furniture was divans swathed in silk, a low ebony table, and a tall armchair of carved ebony set with gold and gems. Tara's first thought was that this was the king's private conference room but a second glance revealed things that didn't fit with that idea. A large crystal globe, mounted on a plinth set with human skulls, stood upon the ebony table. The carvings on the armchair showed, not royal emblems, but snakes and an assortment of winged creatures of demonic appearance. And a stuffed crocodile hung from the ceiling; a clear sign, if Terry Pratchett's 'Discworld' books were anything to go by, that this was the room of a wizard. Unfortunately not the benign Unseen University type; Tsotha-lanti seemed to be more in the style of Lord Voldemort.

"This is the place," said Roshan. "I would expect there to be a passage to his lair from here." There were three archways in the wall, other than the one through which they had entered, and they checked them all out. One led to a balcony, from which they could look out over the city; darkness was falling and lantern light was beginning to shine from windows. Another doorway led to a lavishly furnished bedchamber. The third opened into a corridor that was as elaborately decorated as the chamber in which they stood. Golden censers, from which the scented smoke of incense issued, hung above a floor tiled in an elaborate mosaic pattern.

"Not quite what I expected," Roshan said, "but there seems no other way to go." They trod the mosaic path and found that the corridor curved around in a semi-circle. Half-way along it an archway opened onto an unlit passage. "I think this is it," Roshan said, "but we will need lights before we go that way. Let us follow this corridor to the end first."

"I can summon a magical light," Tara said, "but, yes, we might as well see what's at the end of this one."

It was another elaborate chamber, matching the wizard's save that the ceiling was jet black instead of gold, and Roshan clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth when she saw that a stairway led out of it on the far side. "We passed by that staircase on the way in," she said. "We could have avoided the bedchambers altogether. Oh, well, at least I managed to acquire some coin so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

They retraced their steps to the dark opening and Tara cast her spell. "Aradia, hear my call," she chanted. A tinge of doubt crossed her mind, as it occurred to her that the entity named in the spell might not exist in this reality, but she thrust the thought aside and pressed on regardless. "The way is dark. I beseech thee, bring us light." The familiar glowing ball of light, floating in mid-air without visible support, appeared in front of her and she sighed with relief.

"Wonderful!" Roshan exclaimed.

"There's more," Tara said. "I didn't do this before, because it might have attracted too much attention, but I think it's safe to do it now. Aradia, finder of the lost, guide us to Conan the Cimmerian, King of Aquilonia, imprisoned in this place. Show us the way."

The magical light bobbed in the air, as if nodding assent, and drifted into the dark passage at a walking place. The two girls followed.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The glowing ball of light crossed the beach and headed out to sea. The search party reached the edge of the water, halted, and stared at the Aradia light as it flew over the waves.

Buffy's forehead creased up. "So, Angel's in Japan? At a Buddhist monastery, maybe?"

"Or Hawaii?" Xander suggested.

Willow shook her head. "Aradia doesn't have anything like that kind of range," she said. "I wouldn't think it could detect someone more than a few miles away."

"Santa Catalina island," Fred said. "It's only about twenty or thirty miles. He must be there."

"Even twenty miles would be too far," Willow said. "Is there anything closer?"

"Not in that direction," Gunn stated, with the assurance of a Los Angeles native. "Angel must be on a boat."

"Well, I've heard of a slow boat to China," Xander said, "but that's… kind of ridiculous. A sloth could get further than that in the time Deadboy's been gone. Well, if sloths can swim, anyway."

"They can," Willow said. "There was a Discovery Channel show about a flooded forest in Brazil. I watched it… with… Tara…" She choked up, sniffled, and pulled out a tissue to dab at her eyes. Xander laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Fred bit on her lower lip. "I'll make a start on working out how to get her back tonight," she offered. "It's not like we can do anything more about finding Angel right now. Well, unless he's on a boat sailing back here from Santa Catalina, or somewhere, and will be back in port soon."

"I don't see any boats, not in that direction anyway," Buffy said, "and part of the whole Slayer thing is having really good eyes."

"You know," Xander said, "it kinda looks to me like that light thing has stopped moving. I can't tell for sure but it looks that way. Maybe if I had some binoculars…"

"Oh, I have binoculars," Fred said. "I like to have a gadget for every occasion." She rummaged in her bag, produced a pair of binoculars, and handed them to Xander.

Xander put them to his eyes, fiddled with the focusing for a moment, and stared out to sea. "Well, there aren't any boats near the light," he stated, "but I still can't say for sure if it's still moving or not."

"Let me see," Buffy said, and took over the binoculars. She gazed through them for a minute. "It's not moving," she said. "I'm sure of it. No boat anywhere near. Either that Aradia thing has reached the edge of its range or Angel is under the water."

"With his foot caught in a giant clam?" Xander suggested.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "There are no giant clams around here, Xander," she said.

"We'll have to get a boat," Gunn said, "and diving gear. Although I have no clue how to use it. How about you guys?"

"Sorry, it's not part of the Slayer package," Buffy said. "I guess we'll have to hire somebody. Or, Giles and Spike will be arriving at LAX in a couple of days' time. Spike doesn't have to breathe. Maybe he could dive down without bothering with the oxygen tanks."

Gunn shook his head. "Isn't Spike an old enemy of Angel?"

"Cordy told me Spike had Angel tortured," Fred added. "Why would he help us get Angel back?"

"It's… complicated," Buffy said.

"Spike has issues with Angel," Willow said, "and, right now, we have all kinds of issues with Spike. But Spike's always been okay with Tara. If we tell him it's to help Tara he'll do it."

"I'm not keen on trusting any vamp," Gunn said, "but you know him and I don't."

"I don't want to wait that long," Fred said. "I'll see if I can get a boat and a diver tomorrow."

"We need a diver who won't ask too many questions," Gunn said. "That won't be easy."

Fred took hold of a strand of her hair, guided it to her mouth, and chewed on it. "I, uh, I think Wesley's done some diving," she said.

"English dives? You have to be joshing me," Gunn said. "Anyway, he kind of walked out on us. I don't know if he'd help Angel out."

"We can only ask," Fred said. "If he won't help, well, we'll just find someone else. Or wait for Spike." She took the binoculars back from Buffy and stowed them away in her bag. "We're making progress, anyway, thanks to you," she said to the Sunnydale contingent. "I'll do what I can to get your Tara back. I have to modify my equations on dimensional transference to take account of what I learned about differential time flows from what happened with Connor."

"I still can't deal with Angel having a teenage son who was born six months ago," Buffy said.

"Goddess, Tara might have been in Conan land for years already!" Willow exclaimed.

"The time difference could just as easily work the other way around," Fred said. "I don't know yet – but I'll work it out." She smiled, a dazzling smile that lit up her whole face and made her suddenly beautiful, and looked back out to sea. "We'll get our lost ones back. I just know it. We're getting close."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Tara grimaced as she looked down at the body on the floor; a massive black man, tall and corpulent, his fat belly laid open in a gaping wound. The pool of blood on the floor was three feet across. Beyond it was a door made of heavy steel bars, resembling the doors of cells Tara had seen in Westerns such as 'Rio Bravo', and beyond that grille was a dark passage with walls of crudely-finished stone. The Aradia light had floated through the gaps in the bars and now waited for the girls beyond the door.

"One of the wizard's servants," Roshan said, "and, by his garb and ornaments, an important one. I should be able to work out what happened here. Let me think." She knelt down, touched her fingertips to the puddle of blood, and then wiped them on the corpse's silken clothing. "It is still wet, and only slightly tacky. I am no great expert on how fast blood dries but I would guess it to have been spilled an hour or two ago at most."

"The door at the top of the stairs wasn't locked," Tara remarked, "but this one in front of us is bolted. So it must have been someone from the palace who killed this man."

Roshan shook her head. "No, I do not think so," she said. "I think he was killed by a sword thrust through the bars. In fact I suspect that it was _because_ the door is bolted that he was killed."

"What do you mean?"

"I would guess that Conan was being taken to some cell behind this door but freed himself on the way. He slew his guards, took a sword, and found his way back to this door. The dead man rushed to bolt it in his face, and managed it before Conan could get through, but Conan stabbed him through the bars to prevent him from raising the alarm." Roshan worked the bolt, opened the door, and then pushed her forearm through one of the gaps between the bars until it would go no further. "See, I cannot get my arm through far enough to reach the bolt – and Conan's arm is much thicker than mine."

"So he's loose but trapped in the, uh, dungeon?"

"Indeed so. No doubt he searches for another exit but it could well be that no other such exit exists. He may return here, eventually, but it would be best if we go in after him." Roshan stared at the bolt and pursed her lips. "If one should come to this place, after we have passed the barred door, and should shoot home this bolt then it would be ill for us. My skill at picking locks is useless against a bolt that is out of reach and the bars and bolt are far too thick to be forced except by a battering ram. We would be trapped, even as is Conan, and rumor holds that Tsotha-lanti's catacombs are haunted by demons."

Tara went to the door, being careful not to step in the pool of blood, and examined the bolt thoroughly. She slid the bolt open, shot it home, and then opened it again. "I could work this with magic," she assured Roshan. "We don't need to worry about getting locked in."

Roshan opened her eyes very wide. "You can magic even such a solid piece of cold iron?"

It was Tara's turn to open her eyes wide. "Why not? There isn't anything special about iron. It won't be a problem." She pulled the door wide open. "Aradia, finder of the lost," she addressed the magical light once more, "guide us to Conan the Cimmerian, King of Aquilonia, by a route that avoids all perils."

The light bobbed in the air, and seemed to rotate – it was difficult to be sure, as it had no distinguishable front or back – but made no move to resume acting as their guide.

"I fear that there is no route that avoids peril," Roshan said. She drew her sword.

"I think you're right," Tara agreed, "but I'm not going to give up now. Aradia, finder of the lost, guide us, then, to Conan the Cimmerian by the least perilous route."

The guiding light resumed its course, heading into the dark corridor beyond the steel grille, and Roshan and Tara followed close behind. They made their way through a maze of twisting passages, often by what seemed to be a very circuitous route, for what seemed like miles. After about fifteen minutes of uneventful walking they heard a sound that resembled a woman weeping.

"Another of Tsotha-lanti's prisoners, I would guess," Roshan said, and she veered from the path to investigate.

Tara halted and listened. Ahead of her Aradia slowed and stopped. Tara sensed something approaching, something somehow… cold, and gradually she realized that the weeping didn't sound quite right. There was a noise that sounded like… slithering. "Watch out, Roshan!" she called. "It's a trap!" For a brief second a thought of Admiral Ackbar, the fish-faced Rebel commander from Star Wars, flickered through her mind. Then the source of the weeping came into view and she felt a chill of horror.

The creature that appeared was utterly loathsome. In shape it resembled an upright octopus, man-high and with a head resembling that of a warty toad, but its substance was more like that of a jellyfish. Its bulging eyes slid erratically over the surface of its head and its outline wavered. It reached out for Roshan with two tentacles that stretched out to several times their original length.

Roshan lashed out with her sword and the blade passed through both appendages – but didn't sever them. It was as if she had struck at a stream of water. The tentacles, completely unaffected, continued on. One was aimed at her waist, the other at her sword arm, and Roshan only managed to evade them by making a frantic leap backward. Again the tentacles grabbed for her, again Roshan slashed through them without effect, but this time Roshan's dodge was less successful. A tentacle coiled around her ankle and tugged. Roshan's foot was jerked into the air and she staggered, flailing her arms to keep her balance, and then was pulled inexorably toward the creature. It was no longer making a sound like weeping; now a gloating laughter issued from its rubbery lips.

Tara summoned her energies, pointed her fingers at the beast, and cried out "Ignis incende!" It was a spell she'd never tried in combat before and she used it now only out of desperation. From her hand there shot forth a fiery amber streak of light. It struck the body of the demon and flames shot up from the point of impact. The fire spread, the demon's ichor caught alight, and the creature began to shriek and thrash its tentacles wildly. Its grasp upon Roshan's ankle relaxed and she pulled her foot free.

"You have saved me yet again," Roshan said to Tara, as the hideous being melted like candle-wax, flames licking up from the molten mass, and fell silent and still. "My sword could not harm that eldritch creature, which must have come from the nether pits, and if not for you I would have suffered a dreadful fate."

"You'd have brought a flaming torch with you, if I hadn't summoned the Aradia light," Tara pointed out. "You could have used that against the monster."

"Be that as it may, you still saved me," Roshan said. "You are a most puissant witch."

Tara's cheeks reddened slightly. "It was just a spell for lighting fires," she said. "I've never used it for anything else before now. Not even against vampires."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Giles pulled the Land Rover to a halt at the side of the road. "We're nearly at Entebbe, and it's about twenty minutes to sunrise," he said to Spike. "You'd better put on the salve now." He handed Spike a pot about the size of a jar of Marmite.

Spike unscrewed the lid and sniffed the contents. "Are you sure this will work?"

"The Council's records certainly say that it worked for the original owner," Giles assured him. "Factor ten thousand sun-block for vampires, you could call it, and it should protect you quite effectively. And, before you ask, we don't have the recipe and the original creator was staked in the Sixties. That jar is all there is."

"The Council didn't analyze it?"

"They weren't exactly enthusiastic about something that would let vampires walk in the sunlight," Giles said. "I'm surprised it was even kept, rather than destroyed, but perhaps they felt a single half-empty jar couldn't do too much harm. It should be enough to get you back to California without burning up."

"Hope so," Spike grunted. "It'll be a nice change not having to travel in a box in the cargo hold. Do I have to put it on all over? Not sure it'll stretch that far – and you'd have to do my back."

"The Council records indicate that it only needs to be applied to the exposed skin of the hands and face," Giles said. "There is a mystical component that, apparently, extends the protection to the rest of the body. The application may, indeed, be purely symbolic. I'd still recommend that you be thorough about it. If you burst into flames in here then I'll lose my car rental deposit."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"The notice-me-not spell will have stopped working now that I've cast a combat spell," Tara said. "I won't bother casting it again. It obviously didn't work on that thing with the tentacles and Aradia tends to give away our presence anyway."

Roshan nodded. "And the spell would be a hindrance when we find King Conan, for how could we talk to him if he took no notice of us? And surely we must find him before much longer. If he still lives, that is."

"If he was dead Aradia would have reacted the same way as when I commanded that we be led by a safe route," Tara said. "I'm sure he's still alive."

Roshan cocked her head to one side. "And not far off, I think, for I can hear distant voices. It may be more demons, of course, but your Aradia is leading us directly toward them."

Tara could hear nothing but was confident Roshan was correct; the warrior maiden's senses had already proved to be more acute than Tara's. She listened, as they continued on behind the guiding light, and eventually she too could make out the sounds of someone talking. At first she could make out no words but then they became clear.

"My art is too frail from my long slumber to face Tsotha yet," a male voice said. "I need time to recruit my strength and to assemble my powers. Let us go forth from these pits."

Something metallic jingled. "The grille to the outer door is made fast by a bolt which can only be worked from the outside," a deeper voice informed the first speaker. "Is there no other exit from these tunnels?"

"Only one which neither of us would care to use, seeing that it goes down and not up," the first speaker replied. "But no matter. Let us see to the grille."

Two figures stepped from a side door out into the corridor ahead of Tara and Roshan. One was tall and slender, clad in tattered rags that had perhaps once been elaborate robes, and his dark hair was a tangled unkempt mop. The other was even taller, perhaps six foot three, broad-shouldered and muscular. He wore only a loin-cloth but he held a sword in his right hand and a burning torch in his left. As soon as he spotted the two girls he whipped his sword up into a ready position.

Roshan lowered her sword and went down on one knee. "King Conan," she said, "we have found you at last."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Tara noticed, with some surprise, that Conan had a hairy chest. Somehow she had expected that he would look just like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movies, smooth-chested and with his muscles clearly defined, but the real Conan was hairier and more rugged. He had just as much muscle as his movie counterpart but it was that of someone who had built it up through hard physical labor, and no doubt by swinging heavy swords and battle-axes in countless hours of practice and combat, rather than by pumping iron in a gym. And he needed a shave.

Not as much as did his wizard companion. Pelias somehow had the air of one who was normally clean-shaven but now, after what must have been years of imprisonment, had a straggly beard hanging down over his chest. He looked more like a hobo than like Gandalf but his forehead was high and his eyes had the gleam of intelligence.

"So, you came here to rescue King Conan?" Pelias asked.

"That is so, Master Pelias," Roshan replied, "and it was our aim to rescue you also, if you still lived."

"Oh?" Pelias raised an eyebrow. "Out of the goodness of your hearts?"

"We require the services of a wizard," Roshan said, "and your reputation is that of one who can be trusted. I know of none other of which that is true."

"Put aside your suspicions, Pelias," Conan said. "I know this girl. You're one of Damaspia's girls from the Temple of Ishtar in Yarmouk, is that not so?"

"You are correct, Lord King," Roshan said, "but how did you know? I was but a girl of thirteen when I saw you and surely you cannot remember me."

"I remember a scrawny little girl, hiding behind a pillar, peering around it at me with wide eyes," Conan said. "You've grown up nicely, lass. It would seem, though, that you decided a career as a priestess or a temple dancer was not for you."

"Indeed so," said Roshan. "Perhaps your stories, and those of Olaf, are to blame."

Conan frowned. "It was not my intention to inspire anyone to follow in my footsteps," he said. "I have prospered, true, but many times I have faced deadly peril. And, speaking of peril, there is a monstrous snake in these tunnels. It killed a guard who came to taunt me, and perhaps to slay me on account of a brother of his whom I slew long ago, and thus it was that I gained my freedom when he dropped the keys to my chains as he died. I would recommend that we make our way out of here before the snake comes back."

"That would be Satha the Old One," Pelias said, "chief of Tsotha's pets. I know him of old, for I was forced to watch while ten of my acolytes were fed to the creature. A single victim will not sate his hunger."

Tara gulped. "W-we'd better get g-going," she said. "Aradia, finder of the lost, guide us back to the entrance to this dungeon." The magical light dipped in acknowledgement and then set off along the corridor. Unfortunately Tara had forgotten to stipulate that Aradia should use the safest possible route and the glowing sphere led them right into the path of the colossal snake.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

"Why, the treacherous little snake!" Fred exclaimed. "I oughta taser his ass back to Quortoth."

Angel drained the last drops from his third bag of blood in quick succession, lowered the empty container, and shook his head. "Don't do anything hasty, Fred," he advised. "Connor thought he had a good reason for what he did. Somehow he believes that I murdered Holtz. Justine tricked him, I think. I don't want to take any action until I find out the truth. And find Cordy."

Willow grimaced. "That's not going to be easy," she said. "Aradia wasn't any help at all."

"Which at least rules out Cordelia being in the Los Angeles area," Buffy said. "I don't think you're going to get any quick answers on the Queen C front. So, maybe you can work on our problem first. Plus there's this whole apocalypse thing, too, according to Giles. I guess it's that time of year again."

Angel shook his head slowly. "Let's see if I've got this straight. Two Slayers and two vampires with souls is too big an edge for the forces of Good. That gives my old enemy the First Evil a loophole it can exploit to enter this world."

"That is the situation in a nutshell," Giles agreed.

"And it's too late for staking Spike to solve the problem," Angel went on.

"So the prophecy leads me to believe," Giles confirmed.

"Bit bloody ungrateful of you," Spike complained, "seeing as it was me that fished you out of Davy Jones' Locker."

"Okay, sorry," Angel mumbled, hanging his head for a moment. "I don't know what you thought you were playing at. I guess you were just copying me, as usual."

"If that had been the case I'd have eaten a sodding gypsy," Spike retorted. "Thought getting a soul would fix me up so I could tell the difference between right and wrong. How was I to know it would bugger things up like this? I don't want the world to end. The World Cup is coming up and England is in the same group as Argentina."

"Good Lord!" Giles exclaimed. "The Apocalypse will begin on Midsummer's Day and the World Cup doesn't finish until the end of June. We'll miss the Final."

"I think the end of the world is important for more reasons than just you two missing a soccer match," Buffy said.

"That's 'Football'!" Giles and Spike chorused.

"Whatever. Anyway, I'd rather the world didn't end at all," Buffy said.

"Killing Faith is not an option," Angel declared.

"Indeed not," Giles said. "And it would be just as pointless as staking Spike."

"Or staking Angel," Spike muttered.

"The Slayer line has split," Giles explained. "It passed to Kendra when Buffy died for the first time, and from Kendra to Faith, but when Buffy was… resurrected she was also… re-Called."

Willow grimaced and stared down at her shoes.

"If either Buffy or Faith dies, another Slayer will be Called in her place," Giles went on. "There are two Slayers now and there will continue to be two in the future. I can't see any way around that. And, as a result, the First Evil will rise in a form far more powerful than when it tormented Angel."

"We're doooomed," Spike said, adopting a thick Scottish accent. "Doomed, I tell you."

Giles threw back his head and, much to the surprise of the uncomprehending Americans, laughed out loud. "Stupid boy," he said.

Spike laughed in return. "Captain Mainwaring never said that to Frazer," he pointed out.

"No, he said it to… Pike," Giles replied. "Close enough."

The two Englishmen, or rather the English man and the English vampire, laughed again. The Americans, their eyebrows raised, stared at them.

"This is some English thing, right?" said Buffy.

"Indeed so, in fact perhaps the epitome of Englishness," Giles confirmed. "We laugh in the face of danger."

"So do I," said Xander, "and then I run away."

"Bollocks," said Spike. "Got to say this for you, donut boy, you stick in there to the end."

"Uh, thanks," Xander said.

"Except when it comes to getting married," Anya put in.

"We're getting off the point," Willow said. "Somehow we have to find a way to bring Tara back from the world of muscle-bound barbarians. Then we have to find a way to stop the First Evil destroying this world."

"Seems to me," said Spike, "there's not a lot of point in bringing back the girl if the world's going to end next month. Might make more sense for us all to bugger off there to join her. Don't like the idea of running away and leaving the world in deep shit, and I'm not mad keen on going to a world with no mod cons and no telly, but we might not have any other option."

Buffy's forehead furrowed. "Giles," she said, "suppose I wasn't in this world? Wouldn't that fix the split in the Slayer line? We could avoid the Apocalypse altogether."

"Hmm." Giles put his forefinger to where the bridge of his glasses would have been if he hadn't switched to wearing contacts. He lowered his hand and stared at the finger. "Yes. That is… quite possible. But that would mean you would be exiled to a barbaric and primitive world. It's hardly the ideal solution."

"I know, but better me than the whole world, right?" Buffy said, her voice brittle with fake perkiness.

Giles frowned and bit on his lower lip. "Ah, hmm, perhaps," he said.

"You're putting a lot of faith in this prophecy," Angel said. "Prophecies can be tampered with. I know."

"Faith," Willow muttered under her breath.

"I am convinced of the veracity of this particular prophecy," Giles said. "I stumbled upon it quite by accident. I can't see how anyone could have anticipated, and prepared for, such an unlikely contingency. And it led me directly to where Spike had gone to regain his soul – unfortunately just a few hours too late to stop him."

"Faith!" Willow repeated, this time aloud. "We could send Faith to Hyboria. That would fix the split in the Slayer line without Buffy having to go into exile. I mean, Faith's in jail anyway, so it wouldn't be such a huge deal for her. She'd probably enjoy it."

"That's… rather a good idea, actually," said Giles.

"No," Angel growled. "You're not going to banish Faith into another dimension just like that. She's not expendable."

"Certainly she isn't," Giles said. "I'm sure that's not what Willow meant. It would only be if she consented."

"And I think she might," Willow said. "I bet she'd regard it as better than being in jail."

Angel glowered at her for a moment, his shoulders tensed, but then he relaxed slightly. "I'll put it to her," he said, "and see what she says. But if she says 'no' that's the end of it, right?"

"Of course," Giles agreed. "It would be a totally immoral action to send her to another dimension against her will. And, even setting aside the moral considerations, it would hardly be practical. We would have to extract her from her prison first and that would be immensely more difficult without her active cooperation."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Angel. "Okay, I'll see what she says."

"It might be the answer to getting your friend Tara back, too," Fred said. "When I modified the Morris, Thorne, and Yurtsever equations to account for magical forces the results implied that a wormhole involving time travel would be one-way. We could send someone through but we couldn't pull them back. But if someone went through a portal with a suitable activation device then they could open another one to come back; or, in this instance, pass the device to Tara so that she could come back through."

"You mean, like a Stone of Recall in Dungeons and Dragons?" Xander commented.

"Pretty much," Fred agreed. "I think we might be in business."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

The snake was immense; far bigger than Glory's Sobekian Cobra Demon, bigger than the biggest anaconda, and the twin fangs in the upper jaw indicated that it was venomous rather than a constrictor. Although venom would be overkill as the fangs were the size of scimitars. Being bitten by it would make the bite of a saber-tooth tiger look like a love nip from Miss Kitty Fantastico. It raised itself up in a striking position and towered over the humans.

Conan raised his sword and tensed for action. Roshan drew her saber. Against such a monster, however, their blades would be of little use. Tara tried to think of a spell but couldn't come up with anything that would be more of an irritation to the gigantic snake.

Then Tara noticed that Pelias was moving his hands, his fingers weaving a pattern that could only be the gestures of spell-casting, and he spoke under his breath what must have been mystical words. The snake froze rigid for a brief moment then closed its mouth, lowered its head, and recoiled. Pelias made a high-pitched chittering sound and the snake whirled about and slithered away at high speed.

"Crom!" Conan exclaimed. "That was close. And strange; never have I seen a snake act as if scared before, still less a monster like that. What did he see to frighten him?"

"The scaled people see what escapes the mortal eye," Pelias answered. "You see my fleshly guise; Satha saw my naked soul."

Conan and Roshan both looked askance at Pelias and moved away from him slightly. Neither of them sheathed their swords – well, Conan couldn't have done so anyway, as his present scanty clothing didn't include a scabbard, but it was fairly obvious to Tara that he wouldn't have put the sword away even if he did possess the necessary sheath.

Pelias stood up a little straighter, his chest expanded slightly, and a half-smile played on his lips. Tara was reminded, very strongly, of Spike playing his 'Big Bad' persona to the hilt. And it was likely to have similarly unfortunate results when it came to group cohesion and mutual co-operation.

"Uh, Master Pelias, could I have a quick word?" Tara asked.

"You may, young witch," Pelias said. His tone was somewhat patronizing, even arrogant, but Tara didn't let it bother her; she decided to treat it as if he was Obi-Wan Kenobi speaking to 'Young Luke' and not as if Pelias was being deliberately insulting.

Tara moved a little way away from the other two and Pelias, his eyebrows raised, followed her. A furrow between Roshan's eyebrows as she watched indicated that she was uncomfortable with Tara's proximity to the wizard but she did nothing to interfere. It occurred to Tara that Willow, in the same position, would have voiced her objections strongly but that Roshan was more inclined to trust Tara's judgment. She suppressed the thought, feeling that she was being disloyal to Willow – although she'd already been about as disloyal to Willow as you could get.

Tara felt a blush coming to her cheeks and put aside those side-thoughts to concentrate on the business at hand. Giving a powerful wizard a good talking-to was an intimidating prospect. She managed to summon up the nerve to proceed only by concentrating on his present similarity, in his bedraggled state, to Rincewind rather than the more imposing persona that he'd no doubt present once he'd had his beard trimmed and found some less ragged robes.

"Master Pelias," she said quietly, "King Conan, and my companion Roshan, will think better of you if you tell the truth about the snake. That 'naked soul' thing might make you sound like a Big Bad but it's no way to win friends and influence people."

"Oh? I take it you recognized what I did," Pelias said.

"A Fear spell," Tara confirmed. "That chittering noise sounded like a mongoose to me. I'd bet it saw us as four giant mongeese – uh, mongooses."

Pelias nodded confirmation. "You are knowledgeable indeed. Not many Brythunians would know what a mongoose is, let alone recognize its call."

"That's all part of why we were hoping to get you to help us," Tara said, "but we can go into that once we're out of here. For now, just fix things so that Conan doesn't keep one eye on you when he should be using both eyes to watch out for Tsotha-lanti's creatures and King Strabonus' men."

"There is sense in your words," Pelias conceded. He pursed his lips. "Conan is not one of the credulous peasantry, and your companion must have qualities beyond the ordinary to have penetrated the castle with you, and it is neither possible nor necessary for me to strike them with awe and thus impose my will upon them. Very well, I will do as you suggest." He strode back to the others. "King Conan, milady Roshan," Pelias said, "our perspicacious companion Tara of Brythunia has asked me to confess to the truth of my victory over Satha the serpent. In fact I drove him away with a simple spell of Fear. He saw, not my soul, but the four of us in the guise of mongooses larger than tigers."

Roshan rolled her eyes and her lips moved in a silent word that Tara guessed to be "Men!"

"Ah," said Conan, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. "I have seen mongooses in Vendhya; like unto large stoats, or otters, they are and they prey upon venomous snakes. So your soul, then, is like that of other men and your words were to claim wizardly prestige."

"That… is correct," Pelias admitted. "Tara has made me see that this is pointless in this company – although, once we leave this place, I may make similar claims to cow lesser men into obedience."

"The threat of my sword should do that," Conan said, "but in this place, where men have lived under the domination of Tsotha for years, your wizardly mien should make things much easier." He resumed his forward progress through the corridors and the rest followed.

"How are we going to get you out of the castle, anyway?" Tara asked. "I cast a spell to make people take no notice of us, as we came in, but I don't think it will stretch to cover four. Do you know something similar, Master Pelias?"

"I intend to take control of the palace," Pelias announced. "I imagine that King Conan will need to return to Aquilonia with all speed?"

"Indeed so," Conan confirmed. "I must return quickly, muster the army, and resist the invasion. They have a considerable head start and I fear they will take the city of Shamar, at the very least, before I can bring any forces to bear to oppose them."

"We shall see," said Pelias. Tara thought he sounded smug, as if he knew something they didn't know, but unless he'd invented the world's first airplane, or had a Teleport spell in his repertoire, she couldn't guess what it might be.

At that point they reached the steel grille at the exit to the dungeon. "Ah, by the ivory hips of Ishtar, I see Shukeli," Pelias exclaimed, as he saw the dead body that lay just beyond the bars, "who hanged my young acolytes up by their feet and laughed as he skinned them. Your work, Conan?"

Tara shuddered. The other two didn't show any such reaction.

"Yes, I slew him," Conan said. "He slammed the door in my face as I came up from the dungeon. I was just an instant too late to stop him from shooting home the bolt."

"As I thought," said Roshan. "I had to move the corpse so that we could open the door."

"I hope no-one came up behind you and bolted it again," said Conan.

"If they have I can open it with magic," Tara said.

"If they have I can animate Shukeli's dead form to operate the bolt for us," Pelias said, simultaneously with Tara and almost drowning her voice out. "Your pardon, Lady Tara. I think you said something along the same lines."

"Uh, I'd just move the bolt," Tara said. "I don't do things with… dead bodies."

"A simpler solution, indeed," Pelias said, "but neither is required. The door is not locked."

They passed through and shot the bolt home behind them; no-one wanted the giant snake to emerge and start wandering through the palace. Tara and Roshan led the way up the stairs and towards Tsotha-lanti's chamber.

"Silks, and satins, and gold, I see," Pelias said, once they had reached their destination. "Tsotha-lanti professes to be above such luxuries of the flesh, being half-demon as he is, but it seems he is as fond of human comforts as anyone else. I make no secret of my liking for pleasant surroundings; the Art requires me to shun certain pleasures but I take full advantage of those permitted to me. Is that a jug of wine I see?"

"Indeed it is," Conan said, and he gathered up four crystal goblets and then picked up the jug.

"It is hardly fitting for a king to pour the wine," Pelias protested.

"The devil with that," Conan said. "My servants are in my capital, several days' ride away, and all I see here are allies; friends, even. I do not regard it as beneath my dignity to pour out wine for my comrades." He filled up the goblets and handed them to the others.

"Uh, thank you, Lord King," Tara said, remembering that Roshan had used that form of address and presuming that it was probably correct.

"There is no need to stand on ceremony," Conan said. "I was plain Conan for many years and, after all, none of you are my subjects. I'd as soon you called me by my name, at least until I am back in my capital with my crown upon my head, and even then I would not bother with formalities except that to do otherwise would scandalize my court." He drained his goblet in one swallow. "Crom, I needed that. Well, Pelias, what now?"

"Ah, I see a viewing crystal," Pelias said. He took a sip of his wine then set down the goblet and went over to the object that had attracted his attention. "A childish toy, useful only when there is no time for the higher science, but that describes our present circumstance quite accurately. Let us see how Strabonus and Amalrus are proceeding with their mission of conquest." He waved his hand over the crystal globe and uttered a mystic phrase that sounded, to Tara, very like the occasions when Giles had spoken incantations in Sumerian. A picture formed within the crystal ball.

"By Crom!" Conan exclaimed. "That is Shamar! The armies of Koth and Ophir are forming up to besiege it."

Tara could see a walled city, which did indeed look very like the one she and Roshan had passed through not long before, and around it were a mass of horsemen and men on foot. A thousand flaming torches lit up the scene. The horsemen seemed to be doing little or nothing other than caring for their steeds. The footmen, however, were engaged in a flurry of activity; digging ditches, cutting down trees, and assembling large wooden structures which she presumed to be siege towers.

"I could reach there by noon tomorrow, if I found a fast horse and rode it to death," Conan said, "but I would be outside the walls with an army between me and the defenders. Even if I could get past them I would be little more than an extra sword-arm and a rallying point. Probably I could achieve nothing more than to die with my people when the town falls – as fall it will, within a few days, if relief does not arrive. I need to get to Tarantia to muster the troops and lead an army to the aid of Shamar. Yet that is a journey of five days' hard ride. Before the army could arrive the city would have fallen and the invaders would be ravaging the southern provinces unchecked."

"I fear the situation is worse than that," Pelias said. "See now how things transpire in Tarantia."

The scene changed to what Tara presumed must be a different city. Her knowledge of medieval society was sketchy but it was easy enough to recognize that there was a riot going on. The others all gleaned much more information from the picture in the globe.

"So," Conan growled, "my people turn on me the moment my back is turned."

"They think you slain at the plain of Shamu," Roshan pointed out. "Our enemies will have lost no time in proclaiming their victory."

"That is so," Pelias said, "and Tsotha-lanti will have used sorcery to ensure that the news spread far and fast. I take it that those troops being driven from the city, showing great discipline and restraint in their withdrawal, are the soldiers of your most trusted barons?"

"They are," Conan said. "Count Trocero of Poitan and his retainers. I had expected them to hold the city for me."

"I recall, from before I was imprisoned here," Pelias said, "that Poitan contended against the rest of Aquilonia, seeking greater autonomy, and there was armed conflict between Trocero and King Numenides for a time."

"That is so," said Conan, "and it was one factor that led Trocero to assist me in claiming the throne."

"Then it is no surprise that the people of the capital are revolting against what they see almost as foreign rule," said Pelias. "Do any of the line of Numenides still live?"

"Aye," said Conan. "Prince Arpello of Pelia. Strabonus and Amalrus delighted in informing me that he is their puppet and will be their proxy king of Aquilonia. And I see his banners flying where mine should fly. The people are rising in favor of one who has already sold them into foreign rule." He slammed his goblet down on a table hard enough to shatter it. "Damn him! If I could just be there! I could break his grip on the city before it took hold, and have an army on its way within a day – but I am stuck here. It seems my escape has saved my life but failed to save my kingdom."

Tara tried to think in terms of a world with no phones, no broadcast media, and no means of transport faster than a galloping horse. Even the Wild West had had the telegraph. The lack of long-distance communications meant that no-one in Aquilonia had any idea that their king still lived, and was free, and so they would act as if he was dead and the country would fall to the foreign invaders. She had no idea of how she could make any useful contribution. The only teleportation spell she knew was the one she and Willow had used against Glory – and the complete absence of any control over the destination ruled it out as a solution to the present problem.

"By the time I can get to Tarantia," Conan went on, "it will be too late to do any good. All my damnable nobles will have scattered to their own cursed fiefs on the word of my death. Raising an army will be hell – and before I could gather more than a token force Strabonus will be hammering at the gates. And if I don't get there… now that the crowd have driven out Trocero there will be no-one to stop Arpello from seizing the crown – and he'll hand it over to Strabonus in return for a mock throne. Then, once Strabonus turns his back, Arpello will try to revolt – but the barons won't back him and it will only give Strabonus the excuse to annex the country openly. Amalrus, no doubt, will be content with the scraps from the Kothian table. Crom, Ymir, and Set! Could I but fly like lightning to Tarantia!"

Tara was struck by the contrast between this Conan and the one in the movies. She couldn't imagine Arnie's character conducting a serious analysis of a political situation; smiting enemies with a large sword had been movie-Conan's response to all problems. It would probably work here, too, if Conan hadn't been a couple of hundred miles from where the smiting needed to be done.

"What if I could get you to your capital before the dawn?" Pelias said.

"Then things would be entirely different," Conan said. "I could stop those riots in short order, throw Arpello into prison, bring back Trocero before he has gone too far, and have an army on the march by the morrow. But one would need to be able to fly like a speeding arrow to reach Tarantia so quickly."

"Exactly," said Pelias. "There are creatures not of earth and sea but of the skies and the far reaches above. They dwell apart, unguessed of by men, and affairs on this world hold no interest to them. Yet to him who holds the Master-words and Signs, and the Knowledge underlying all, they are neither malignant nor inaccessible. I can summon one to bear you to Tarantia with wings far swifter than those of an eagle."

"That would be a marvel indeed," said Conan, "and would render my task far easier. Yet I would not depart and leave you alone amongst your enemies. And what of the girls?"

"We can slip out and merge with the populace of Khorshemish," Roshan said. "They will not know we had anything to do with your escape. And, in truth," she added, pouting, "our contribution was minor and you would have escaped without our aid."

"And you need not fear for me," Pelias said. "Soon the people of Khorshemish will know that they have a new master. Slay Strabonus at the siege of Shamar and I will do the rest. Hmm. I do not wish to rule the kingdom. I must find out who is the heir to the throne."

"Strabonus has no children," Conan said. "He married quite recently but word has it that it was a matter of politics and he pays his wife little attention."

Tara suspected that the wife in question might well have been one of the pair of women she had observed getting it on in a nearby bedroom. Roshan had said that she suspected that one of the two was participating out of frustration, rather than because she genuinely swung that way, and Conan's tale might be the explanation.

"His brother leads a revolt against his rule in the eastern provinces of Koth," Conan continued. "Doubtless the brother would take the throne if the chance arose. I know little about him save only that he is popular with his soldiers and, perhaps because of that, he is holding his own with some success despite the far greater resources Strabonus commands. He might well make a better king than his brother."

"And he would be unlikely to seek revenge for Strabonus' fall," said Pelias. "Excellent. Now, Conan, if you would accompany me to the top of the tower, I shall summon the child of the stars to transport you on your way."

"First let me find some clothing," Conan said. "It would be too easy for Arpello to raise a cry that I was an impostor if I arrived clad only in this loincloth."

This was another example of the differences between this real-life Conan and the one portrayed by Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movies. Tara couldn't stop herself from breaking into a laugh. "S-sorry," she said, as three pairs of eyebrows were raised. "It's just that, where I come from, they tell tales about Conan's exploits and, in them, he _always_ wears nothing but a loincloth. It's never seemed very practical to me and it seems I was right."

"Crom's blood, girl, the skalds of your land must never have felt a Cimmerian winter," Conan said. The grin on his face showed that he was in no way offended. "It is true that I first found some measure of fame in Zamora, where it is hot, and there were times when I wore no more than I wear now. In Kush I went lightly clad, too, for such is the custom in those lands. But in the northern climes I dress warmly and, if going into battle, I would always wear at least a mail hauberk if given the choice. Bare skin does not turn aside blades."

"And rags do not inspire respect," Pelias said. "Your words, Tara, have reminded me that I should emulate Conan and seek out robes worthy of my position."

'And a pointy hat,' Tara thought, 'although probably not with 'WIZZARD' embroidered on it.' This time she managed to keep her inward laughter to herself.

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Conan returned to the chamber clad in breeches and a hauberk of gilded scales. He had a plumed helm tucked under his arm and a broadsword hung at his hip. "This garb must belong to an officer," he said. "It will serve very well when I make my entrance. Summon your flying demon, Pelias, and I shall be off to Tarantia."

"It must be done at the top of the tower, under the sky," said Pelias. "Follow me."

"Come to me in Tarantia as soon as word of my victory reaches you," Conan told the girls, as they ascended the stair, "and I will reward you."

"Actually what we really want is for you to repeal a law," Tara said.

Conan halted. "What law is this?" he asked.

"The law saying that people can burn witches, and keep the witch's possessions," Tara said, "and that one way to recognize witches is that they, uh, like other girls."

Conan gave a loud peal of laughter. "Ah, sits the wind in that quarter? I had thought that one of you two might make a fine Queen for Aquilonia, for I admire women of courage, but I suppose that is out of the question."

"Q-queen? M-me?" Tara could feel her eyes widening into huge circles.

"Indeed," said Conan. "I like women who are bold and resourceful as well as pretty. The pampered ladies of the court hold no appeal for me. You two are much more to my taste. Alas, I suspect that I am not to yours."

"It's, uh, nothing personal," Tara said, "it's just that, well, you're a man."

Conan laughed again. "I am indeed. Ah, well, I shall have to look elsewhere for my queen. It is a shame that Princess Amestris chose Olaf over me. She would have been ideal."

"That reminds me," Roshan said, "Olaf sends you his regards. They have two children now, a son and a daughter, and the son takes after his father."

"A mighty warrior to be, no doubt," said Conan.

"I thought you were in a desperate hurry to get to your capital," Pelias commented sourly, "and yet you tarry for gossip."

"Two minutes are not crucial," Conan replied, "and this is relevant. My friendship with Olaf is well known. So, too, is my past relationship with Queen Yasmela of Khoraja and my service of Captain of the Guard under Queen Taramis of Khauran. I wonder if Strabonus' true objective is, not Aquilonia, but those petty kingdoms along his southern border. If he moved to annex them I would have come to their defense. Koth could never hope to hold Aquilonia indefinitely, and the motive behind the invasion puzzled me, but perhaps Strabonus aims only to remove it as a threat so that he can expand his empire to the south without interference."

"A pre-emptive strike," Tara commented.

"Exactly," said Conan, raising his eyebrows. Tara guessed that he was surprised at a woman making a pertinent comment about military politics. "If I am correct then Prince Arpello might have good reason to believe that he will be allowed to be a true king of Aquilonia. Probably Ophir will annex Shamar, and the lands to the south of it, and Strabonus will be satisfied with a free hand to act against the petty kingdoms. Of course if Aquilonia erupts into civil war that will serve Strabonus' ends just as well."

"_Queen_ Yasmela of Khoraja, you say?" Pelias commented. "What happened to King Khossus?"

"He is king once more," Conan answered. "Yasmela was Queen Regent when I knew her; her brother was held captive by Amalrus of Ophir at the time. I helped to rescue him, later, and he returned to his place on the throne." He frowned. "Amalrus was working with Strabonus at that time. I should have been more suspicious when Amalrus claimed that he felt threatened by Koth and invited me to the meeting which turned into an ambush."

"I was born in Khoraja," Pelias said. "You could be right in your deductions. Strabonus has long coveted Khoraja and the wealth it gains from the trade routes. But the motives behind their actions are unimportant now. What matters is how to deal with them."

"True," said Conan, "although it will be a useful lesson to remember for the future. But, for now, things can be set right by cutting off Arpello's head and then crushing the armies of Koth and Ophir at Shamal."

"It would be as well to ensure that Strabonus and Amalrus lose their heads as well," said Pelias.

"And Tsotha-lanti the sorcerer too," Conan added.

"I fear that cutting off Tsotha's head will not suffice," Pelias warned. "There are rituals that must be performed to ensure that he stays dead. I will join you at the battlefield and do what is necessary."

"That would be wise," said Conan. "Well, let us tarry no more." He resumed his ascent of the staircase. "Summon your flying demon steed, and I will be off."

"Don't forget to repeal the law about witches," Roshan reminded him, as they emerged onto the top of the tower.

"I did not even know that there was such a law," Conan said. "Of course I shall have it repealed as soon as the invaders have been crushed. If any genuine witches have been burned I would be amazed; for, if they truly have dark powers of sorcery, they will not suffer themselves to be taken. Those who burn are, I would think, innocent victims of envy and malice."

"It would have happened to me in one of your southern villages," Roshan said, "had Tara not arrived and rescued me. And I have no powers of witchcraft whatsoever."

"But the lady Tara has," said Conan, "which proves my point. Come to me as soon as the war ends. You shall witness the law being repealed and also receive a suitable reward for your deeds."

Not that they had achieved much, Tara thought, as Conan had managed to free himself and Pelias before the two girls arrived. Conan seemed willing to give points for effort, however, and perhaps they had made the escape go a little smoother than it would have done in their absence. She was hardly in a position to turn down the reward, anyway, and she put aside the fleeting thought and watched as Pelias summoned his demon.

The creature that swooped down out of the sky was the size of a light plane. It bore a strong resemblance to the giant pterosaur from 'Walking With Dinosaurs', except that it was covered in white fur; Tara suspected that it might be a genuine pterosaur, summoned from the past or from an alternate dimension, rather than a demon.

"Crom!" Conan exclaimed. "I have never seen a beast like this one. Can it really carry me to Tarantia?"

"Indeed it can," Pelias assured him, as the creature landed. "You will be at your capital by dawn."

"It is well that I have just used the privy," Conan remarked, causing Tara to have to suppress a giggle, and then he donned his helm and climbed onto the monstrous pterosaur. He settled himself astride it, his legs around the base of its neck, and waved to Pelias. The sorcerer uttered a command and the pterosaur lumbered forward and dived off the edge of the tower.

"Cro-o-o-o-m!" Conan cried, as they plummeted downward, but the beast was only using gravity to gain the necessary airspeed for laden flight. Such a massive creature presumably had the same problems with vertical take-off as a swan or an albatross. Once it had gathered speed it swooped upward, ascending rapidly, and soared away. Within moments the pterosaur and its passenger were out of sight.

Roshan's eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open. She recovered her composure, after Conan had disappeared into the dark sky, and managed to regain control of her face. "By Ishtar's nipples!" she exclaimed. "Even forewarned I could scarce believe what I saw."

"Definitely something you don't see every day," Tara agreed. She was a lot less awestruck than the other girl; compared to some of the things she'd seen in Sunnydale, a barbarian flying off on the back of a giant pterosaur didn't come into the jaw-dropping category. "Well, now that Conan has gone, it's time to turn our attention to Pelias," she said. "If he's to make a suitable impression on the denizens of the castle, when everyone wakes up in the morning, we'd better give our wizard a makeover."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Pelias stared at the little nail scissors. "How ingenious," he commented. "The ingenuity and craftsmanship is beyond anything that I have seen before. That did not come from Brythunia, I will wager, but from somewhere with artisans of much greater skill. I would think it a relic of lost Atlantis save that there is no sign of corrosion or wear."

It had never occurred to Tara that a gadget as simple as a pair of scissors would be so impressive to people from a pre-industrial civilization. The local equivalent didn't have a pivot where the blades crossed; instead it was constructed from a single piece of metal, bent into an elongated 'U' shape, with the tips flattened out into blades. The curved part at the base was springy and the cutting operation was performed by squeezing the blades past each other. It resembled the hand-operated shears that sheep-farmers used before the invention of powered shears. Tara would have struggled to cope but Roshan, obviously well accustomed to the device, was using it with speed and precision to trim Pelias' hair and beard. Tara used her much smaller scissors to tidy the wizard's eyebrows and mustache, trim away his nasal hair, and give him a badly-needed manicure – although a pedicure was further than she was prepared to go.

"I'm not really from Brythunia," Tara admitted. "In fact I'm from another world. Hey! Keep your head still or you'll end up with mismatched eyebrows. That wouldn't be very impressive."

Pelias chuckled. "Indeed not, lady. Very well, I shall sit motionless, but you must explain your astounding claim."

Tara obeyed, relating the tale of her arrival in Hyboria, as she and Roshan worked to transform Pelias from 'homeless man' into 'majestic wizard'. He accepted her story with less incredulity than she had expected; although, when she thought about it, she realized that someone who could summon creatures from other dimensions must have the concept pretty much worked out.

"Sending you from this world into another realm would not be easy," said Pelias, when Tara had finished relating her tale, "but not excessively difficult either, for a wizard of my talents, especially as you would not be resisting. Making sure that you arrive safely in the world from which you came, however, is far more challenging. I shall need to devote considerable thought to the matter and, at the moment, I am afraid that my priorities must lie elsewhere."

"That's… understandable," Tara said; she had intended to say 'okay' but hadn't been able to put the word into the local language. "I can wait."

"Once I have established control here, and I have sent Tsotha-lanti back to the hells in which he was spawned, then I will give your problem my full attention," Pelias promised. "Now, are you satisfied with my appearance?"

The two girls took a step back and scrutinized the wizard. "I think that will do," Roshan said.

"Yes, much better," Tara agreed. "You'd make an excellent Gandalf." She saw the blank look on Pelias' face, realized that she'd just used an analogy that would be completely meaningless here, and hastened to explain. "Uh, he's the greatest wizard where I come from," she said, keeping her explanation simple by not mentioning that Gandalf was a fictional character. "He's renowned for being able to control the situation through his sheer presence rather than by doing anything exceptional with his magic."

Pelias nodded. "I shall do both," he said, "but it will make things easier if I present an imposing appearance."

"You would look better if you bathed," Roshan pointed out, "and you will need robes appropriate to your status."

"There will be suitable robes in Tsotha-lanti's chests," Pelias said, "but a bath will be harder. Summoning servants to draw and heat water would reveal my presence here before I am ready. Hmm. I think that I shall have to enlist the services of the elemental spirits of fire and water. I would not use high magic for such a trivial purpose in normal circumstances but, in the present situation, I think that it is permissible."

"Yes, definitely," Tara agreed, mentally comparing Willow's somewhat cavalier attitude toward the use of magic with that of the vastly more experienced Pelias. And it brought to mind something else. In approximately five days' time natural biological processes were going to present her with a problem that was unlikely, in this world to have been solved in a fashion that she'd find acceptable. Would it be legitimate, in the circumstances, to use magic to replicate her single, solitary, tampon?

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Faith pursed her lips and frowned. "I ain't wicked crazy about going to some garbage-dump barbarian world," she said, "but I guess I can live with it. It ain't like the California Institution for Women's any bed of roses. I'll go."

"Are you sure?" Angel said. "I don't want you to feel you're being forced into this."

"Well, if the world's gonna end if we both stay here, better it's the girl in jail who goes off to play Red Sonja than the girl who has a house and a kid sister and friends and shit." Faith broke into a grin. "Hey, I might even enjoy it."

"Can you get out of here when you need to?" Angel asked.

"No problemo," Faith said. "Level Three security wasn't designed with Slayers in mind." Her gaze flicked briefly to the video camera that looked down on them. "Uh, as long as the guards aren't listening in, that is, or I'll be stuffed into maximum security before I can blink."

"Don't worry," Angel assured her, "I've got a gizmo in my pocket that Fred and Willow cooked up, mixing technology and magic, to make sure we can talk privately. Anyone who listens in won't take any notice whatever we say. Even if they're listening to a recording it'll be just the same. We can talk about anything we like."

"Wicked cool," Faith said. "Okay, I can get out easy enough, but I'll need transportation to get from here to Sunnydale."

"We'll work something out," Angel promised. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I'll need some shit to take with me, yah know? A sword, and a bow and arrows, and a sweet set of leathers. And a whole lot of pills. 'Cause, yah know, I can't see me getting Conan the Barbarian to put a rubber on his dick. Or one of those contraceptive implant things might be even better. And a back-pack full of a shitload of feminine hygiene items. They're rationed here and there's nothing like not having enough to make you realize how much you'd miss them."

"Uh, right," Angel said, squirming slightly in his seat. "I'll get Fred to put a supply kit together. She was trapped in a barbarian dimension herself for five years so she'll know something about what sort of things you'd regret not taking. And I'll remind her about the… hygiene items."

Faith nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Just make sure she – Fred is a she, right? – doesn't forget the weapons. I bet I'm gonna need them."

Angel smiled. "Don't worry, there's no danger of Fred forgetting about weapons." He glanced at his watch. "We don't have much time left so I'd better finish off quickly. I can't rely on there being another rainy day when the time comes to give you the signal to break out, they're pretty few and far between at this time of year, and even today I'm cutting it fine and I might have to make a dash for the car under an umbrella. It might not be me who gives you the word and tells you where to find the transportation."

"Wes, then?"

Angel frowned. "Wesley isn't part of our group at the moment," he said. "We had a… disagreement. Probably it'll be Willow sending you a mental message from outside the jail."

Faith looked down at her hands. "Willow hates me," she said, "and with good reason."

"When I tell her that you're willing to help her get Tara back," Angel said, "Willow will forgive you for everything. You don't need to worry."

"I hope so," Faith said. "I owe Tara one anyway. She'd never done nothing to me, hell, I'd never even met her before, and I was real mean to her for no reason at all. It's only fair that I make things right. And I get to save the world at the same time, which is a bonus."

"A pretty important bonus," Angel said. "So I can tell everyone to go ahead with the plan?"

"Sure thing," Faith said. "I'm good to go. Five by five."

– 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 –

Tara re-cast the Notice-us-not spell before she and Roshan left the palace. The guards on the doors, few in number and not particularly alert, were oblivious as the two girls walked past them.

"I would never have believed that two attractive girls, clad in the revealing attire of Koth, could walk past soldiers on guard duty without them even turning their heads," Roshan commented. "I wonder if they would still ignore us if I took off my top." She lifted her hands to the fastenings of the band of cloth that covered her breasts.

"Don't you dare!" Tara hissed. "There's a limit to the power of the spell. If you stretch it too far it might snap and then we're in trouble."

Roshan pouted. "Very well," she said, lowering her hands. "But this has been an adventure somewhat lacking in excitement. We were too late to rescue Conan before he freed himself. Pelias the Sorcerer drove off the giant snake, with no need for me to raise a sword, and then sent Conan home on the back of a flying demon. Pelias won all the glory. All we did was to trim his beard and cut his hair."

Tara shrugged. "It needed to be done," she said. "And there's nothing wrong with things being lacking in excitement. After the fifth time you've been chased around a cemetery by a vampire you realize that exciting is over-rated. It's much better if things go smoothly and without fuss."

"True," Roshan conceded. "I did but jest. I was not really going to display my breasts to the guardsmen. They are reserved for you."

Tara could feel her cheeks heat up. "Uh, thanks," she said. By now they had reached the outer door. Roshan opened it, they passed through, and Tara closed it behind them. "I think I'll drop the spell now, if you think it's safe," she told Roshan. "It's been a long day, I'm beginning to get tired, and keeping the spell going is a little draining. If I keep it up until we get back to the inn I'll be too tired to do anything else."

"I would not want that," Roshan said. "There still could be an exciting end to the evening but only if you have the energy."

It was blatantly obvious what she meant. Tara bit her lip. She could claim that she was too tired for sex, and nothing would happen, but did she want to? She'd already been unfaithful to Willow – several times, in several different positions – and as well hung for a sheep as for a lamb. And, to be honest, Tara wanted it too. Not only had she become very fond of Roshan but the sex was, frankly, awesome. If there was such a thing as a Sex Olympics in this age Roshan would be a shoe-in for the Gold in the Lesbian event. And, with the relief of tension after their successful mission, Tara was feeling quite horny herself.

"Now that kind of excitement I can live with," Tara said. "I'd say it's safe to release the spell now. Do you agree?"

"I do," Roshan said. "It matters not if we are seen merely in the vicinity of the palace. There are many innocent reasons for us to be here. Conan's escape will not have been noticed yet and, when it is, there is no reason for anyone to suspect that it was anything to do with us."

The logic was sound. Tara released the spell and the two girls walked back to the inn, restricting their conversation to innocuous topics, looking forward to a meal and then bed.

It was pure bad luck that put the wrong person in the right position to see them and, when word spread through the city that the King of Aquilonia had escaped, to remember.

And to resolve to take action.


End file.
